


The Queen Anne's Return

by KnightInRainbowArmour



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-01-27 00:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 79,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightInRainbowArmour/pseuds/KnightInRainbowArmour
Summary: Vanessa comprehends the expression on Charity’s face as though she’s seeing it through a mirror, recognisable but with something unacquainted about it at the same time, because when she tilts her head heavily back to look up, Charity doesn’t look worried like Vanessa’s seen her look before, when one of the boys fall down with a scream of pain, or when Vanessa wakes her up in the middle of the night panting to catch her breath.No. This isn’t like any of those time.She looks completely terrified.-The pirate sequel no one asked for.
Relationships: Charity Dingle/Vanessa Woodfield
Comments: 32
Kudos: 124





	1. Ghost Stories

**Author's Note:**

> I like pirates okay? 
> 
> This would have been up months ago if my laptop chose to cooperate, but here we are.. at last. Could have given up a few times but I think my girlfriend would have murdered me. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Vanessa prefers this time of evening, just as the suns beginning to sink low on the horizon, still casting sprays of heat across the surface of the sea. Waves of warm salt-tipped water that ebb with a timeless indifference against the cool sand, ushering her into an unperturbed stupor.

She prefers this time of evening because it’s the last flickers off light before darkness descends with a blanket of ominous sounds that creep sinisterly through the night air. It’s the way the wind blows against the side of their house, beams creaking beneath the pressure with disguised footsteps, or the way the leaves rustle in the trees as though someone’s slithering towards her. The last rays of day light leave behind a sense of peaceful serenity before Vanessa has to deal with the hours of uncertainty that follow.

She’s gotten pretty good at sleeping through the night now, she thinks at least, when her bare feet shift the dry sand, digging into the damp layer beneath. Her eyes flicker over to where Charity’s running down towards the water line, a couple of feet away, with Johnny and Moses chasing after her. The three of them are laughing and squealing as they brandish sticks as swords, the dull echo of wood hitting wood intercepting the smooth crash of waves.

Vanessa can’t remember that last time she woke up in the middle of the night, a couple of weeks maybe, sweating and panicking and pulling Charity back to consciousness with her, the nightmares a thing of the past but the memories still sit at the edge of her mind, a smudge of thick, black ink across the pages of a book.

The way the gentle thump of her heart echoes in the smile that curls the edges of her mouth upwards at the sight of Johnny and Moses tackling Charity to the sand, doesn’t ache in the unused muscles in her face the way it had done during the months after the events of Port Royal. A smile on her face had been a rare sight for a long time after that, but now, she finds them coming easier, spreading warmth through her bones, because Charity and their kids bring her so much happiness, so much that she’s only just beginning to let fill her heart instead of memories of fire and blood, or burning gun powder and rain.

Charity continues to play with the boys, running up and down the beach and splashing along the shoreline, soaking the bottoms of their trousers, but when she looks up and catches Vanessa staring, a grin just as wide as her own spreads across her face, skin glowing beneath the burning sky. 

Vanessa subconsciously reaches down to the ring that sits comfortably on her left hand, twisting it around her finger when Charity turns back to teasingly dangle Moses above the waves by his waist. She forgets it’s there, sometimes, growing used to its weight and shape.

“In your own little world there, V.” Tracy’s voice yanks Vanessa from her reverie with a sharp tug that starts somewhere low in her stomach, and she blinks quickly to rid her brain of its fog. “Tired?”

“Just thinking.” She glances between Chas and Tracy, both watching her carefully, reminding herself that they were in the middle of a conversation before she’d drifted off into a daze.

“Not about…?” Tracy asks wearily, reaching across to grab Vanessa’s hand in what she assumes is supposed to be a reassuring gesture.

“No,” she’s gotten used to lying about it now, not that she needs to do it that often these days, anyway, “no,” she says again, shaking her head and mustering up the most encouraging smile she can manage but she turns away as she does so, not trusting her own features not to betray her. Searching the beach to find Charity stood watching the boys with her arms crossed in front of her chest, she feels her smile falter slightly.

Johnny and Moses have wandered away from her, finding Billy and Aaron far more entertaining while they throw logs into the pit they’ve been digging halfway down the beach. Charity seems to have drifted into a daze of her own, face slack and eyes emotionless while she stares, turning her attention out towards the unused Queen Anne docked at the edge of the cove, still somehow over shadowed by the Merciless behind it.

It pulls something sharp in Vanessa chest and she feels her brow dipping into a deep frown. “She glad our Noah’s home, then?” Chas is flicking through a book half-heartedly, but she glances up out of the corner of her eye at Charity when she speaks before turning to give Vanessa her full attention. “She’s been quiet about it this time.”

“You havin’ a laugh?” Vanessa asks, managing to tear her eyes away from Charity. “She’s not shut up about it since Jacob brought his letter the other week, has she.”

“To you maybe. Barely said two words to me.” Chas smirks but there’s a hint of concern that underlines her tone. “She’s going soft.”

“Maybe,” Vanessa mutters, wedging her fingers into the steadily cooling sand.

Tracy tosses a small pebble at Vanessa before picking up a handful of sand, staring at it as it pours between her spread fingers. “She’ll be relieved he’s home safe.” She says, looking up at Vanessa once her palms empty. “I remember when you went off, worried sick every day we were, Dad as well.”

At that, Vanessa only just manages to stifle a scoff, but her eyes roll before she can stop them. They very rarely talk about Frank anymore, not after the initial shock of realising that he had in fact left Tracy alone in Port Royal had worn off, fled back to England with his tail between his legs. “’Course he was.” She mumbles tossing the pebble back at Tracy and watches it as it lands in her lap instead. She looks out towards the sea again, and choses to focus on her own relief rather than the angry hot betrayal she feels welling up low in her stomach whenever she slips into thinking about her dad. Noah’s home, safe and unharmed with an impressive loot to show for his year away from the island.

But Charity, despite her excitement and relief, had hidden something in her gaze as she’d watched the Merciless and its crew dock on the edge of the cove, something Vanessa’s beginning to realise was longing, a yearning for a life she’s no longer living. “I think she misses it.” Her admission surprises herself, spilling from her lips before her brain can even register the words, but both Chas and Tracy look up at her curiously. 

“Misses what?” Chas closes her book and drops it to her side.

Vanessa hesitates, wonders for a moment if there’s any need or reason for her to explain her train of thought when she doesn’t know for certain herself. But as she lets her eyes trace back over to Charity, statue still in the same spot she’s been in for the past couple of minutes, she feels her heart sink like lead in her chest. “Being out there.” Vanessa waves her hand dismissively out at the sea and slumps back onto her elbows, squinting against the last rays of light on the horizon. “She hasn’t said anything,” she’s quick to cut off any of Chas’ concerns with a fleeting smile, “too proud for that, but just look at her.” Both Chas and Tracy turn, faces softening at the sight. “Think she misses being a pirate.” Chuckling sadly, Vanessa drops her eyes from Charity’s frame.

“How long has it been now? A year and a half?” Tracy asks as her bottom lip juts out in thought.

“Nearly two.” Vanessa corrects, her words coming through an almost disbelieving whisper. She’s not sure how long it actually feels, days since they stepped foot on land with the intention of never leaving, but at the same time, Vanessa feels like she’s known Charity for years, as though there’s never been anyone else to exist alongside, that it’s always been Charity’s arms wrapped around her at night, who’s hand she holds when they go for their morning walks with the boys… “If I’m being honest,” she sighs quietly, sitting up straight, “I think I miss it, too, a bit.”

Vanessa lets her eyes wander past Charity and towards the Queen Anne, floating deserted on the calm water, the light breeze rocking the ship with creaking masts and the ropes sway with each gust that travels through them. Being out at sea, the way they had been, is a feeling that Vanessa struggles to describe, doesn’t have the words readily available in her mind to explain how she’d felt during those months when she’d first met Charity. Something like freedom in the beginning, and an unstoppable force towards the end. Because that’s what Charity had given Vanessa, freedom from a life caged away and she’d opened up a whole world of opportunities that had always seemed so impossible within the four walls of her bedroom up in that mansion, on top of the hill looking down on Port Royal.

Together they’d torn down those walls, ripping a great big hole through the middle of Bails’ tyrannical reign, cutting his ties with the Tate’s and the Monarchy, because they could. Even after the darkness that Vanessa had succumbed to, feeling the panic at the back of her neck for months after that, Charity had held her hand, stood firm and close and sure, unstoppable together.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she manages slightly wistful, her voice sounding far away even to her own ears, “this is home for us, the first proper home I think either of us have ever had… it’s just, being out there- it’s different.” Vanessa shakes the thoughts away and blinks, smiling stiffly at Tracy. “Anyway, not like we can just up and leave, though, is it?” She says, dusting the sand from the palms of her hands against her light cotton trousers, hoping to bring the conversation to its end.

“Why can’t you?” Tracy ask suddenly, looking to Chas for support. “What’s stopping you from getting back out there?”

Vanessa scoffs with a roll of her eyes. “The kids for starters,” she throws her hands up in exasperation, “an' if we step one foot anywhere with one of those Red Coats skulking about, it’ll be a trip down to the gallows, again.” She hisses, before ducking her head, realising her voice is rising to the point where Marlon and Jimmy glance up curiously from where they’re stacking a few barrels together on the other side of the fire pit, “just can’t risk it.” Vanessa stands, brushing herself down with an apologetic smile.

“Who says it has to be like last time?” Chas asks hurriedly before Vanessa can make a break for it. She comes to a stop, her back to them but waits, shoulders slumping. “I’m sure our Paddy wouldn’t mind a few weeks away,” Chas says, keeping her voice low enough to keep it from travelling over to the fire pit, the rest of the village beginning to trickle down onto the beach. “No harm in thinking about it.”

Vanessa doesn’t want to admit aloud how appealing that sounds, to even contemplate boarding that ship and just letting the wind and the current carry them off in an undecided direction, makes Vanessa’s heart hammer out a stampede against her ribs. The very idea of Charity by her side, makes her feel as though she’s floating as she grabs up her boots and wanders over to where Charity’s still stood frozen a couple of feet away.

She doesn’t want to admit it out loud because given the chance, she knows she’ll jump head first without a second thought, and maybe there’s a little bit of worry somewhere deep down, that she won’t ever want to come back.

“Hey, love.” Charity turns, smiling before Vanessa’s even been given the chance to announce herself. Charity steps forward to wrap her arms around her waist and tugs her close. “Finished talking ‘bout me, have you?” She asks smirking, leaning in and Vanessa catches her lips with her own.

Melting into the contact, Vanessa lets out a blissful hum and drops her boots to the damp sand behind Charity in favour of forking her hands through Charity’s sea curled hair. “Weren’t talking ‘bout you.” She says unconvincingly, mind growing foggy again when Charity runs her hands up her ribs and squeezes. “What were you thinkin’ about?”

“Nothin’, just admiring the view.” Charity brushes off her question dismissively, dropping her mouth to Vanessa’s ear and whispers gently, “thinkin’ about how much better it would look from our bedroom window-”

“Charity.” Vanessa cuts her off with a warning tone, but the edges of her lips are turning up into a smile that she doesn’t try to fight, can’t fight even if she wants to. Something catches her attention from the corner of her eye, though, and her smile turns into a think line of pursed lips. “As appealing as that sounds, I think our kids are trying to turn the bonfire into a play house.”

Charity snaps her head to the side to peer around Vanessa, eyes widening in horror when she spots Johnny’s bare feet poking from beneath the logs and the sound of Moses giggling somewhere inside. “One each, yeah?”

Laughing, Vanessa nods and follows Charity over to the fire pit and grabs Moses’ ankles, giving them a gentle yank just as Charity does the same with Johnny. Their excitable squeals fill the quiet beach, completely oblivious to the fact that both Vanessa and Charity are trying and failing miserably to be cross with them.

“What did I tell you about crawling into holes that are too small for mummy and me?” Charity snaps with less force than she’s probably hoping for once they’ve made themselves comfortable in the sand close by. Vanessa hides her smirk in the top of Moses’ head and wraps her arms around his middle to keep him from making a run for it. “We need to be able t’find you, okay?”

Johnny rolls his eyes, a habit he’s picked up from Charity over the past couple of years, and one that never fails to pool heat in Vanessa’s chest every time she catches it. “You said we could play.”

“You can.” Vanessa reassures him before the vein in Charity’s forehead pops. “Just where we can see you, okay?”

“Can we be pirates again?” Moses asks, picking up his abandoned stick and pointing it up at Vanessa’s face.

Nodding while she carefully pushes the stick away from her right eye, she ruffles his hair and releases her grip from around his waist. “Stay away from the water, okay?”

They run off screaming at the top of their lungs and Charity winces at the pitch. “You think Irene will take ‘em tonight?” She asks, only half joking, as she rubs at her temples and drops her head to Vanessa’s shoulder. “Or Tracy?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much.” Vanessa says, her arm coming up to wrap around Charity’s back. “They’ll be stuck to Noah like limpets once he’s down ‘ere.” Charity’s hand slips easily into hers and she begins to play with the ring on Vanessa’s finger, falling quiet and still. “You okay?” Vanessa asks after a moment, feeling a prickling tension beginning to rise in Charity’s spine.

Charity lets out a heavy sigh through her nose, shoulders slumping almost dejectedly. She’s quiet for a while and Vanessa begins to think of a way to change the subject but then Charity’s sitting up straight again, twisting in the sand so she’s facing Vanessa with a frown etched between her eyebrows. “How long do you think he’s gonna stick around for?” She asks, purposefully dropping her eyes to the sand between them.

“Noah?” Vanessa asks, and Charity gives a sharp nod. “Not sure, couple of weeks hopefully.” Her voice doesn’t come as sure sounding as she wants it to and Charity’s eyes flicker up to meet her own.

“You think this is this how the kids used to feel?” Charity mutters, more to herself than to Vanessa. “Getting all excited one minute, and then the next,” her face twists into a grimace and she slumps forward dejectedly, “being flamin’ miserable.” 

“Charity-”

“He’s only just come back, an’ here’s me waiting for him to leave again so I can look forward to him comin’ back.” Charity lets out a blurt of laughter, a cold sound dripping with sarcasm as she rolls her eyes in the same instance. “I can’t stand it, Ness.”

Sighing gently, Vanessa pulls Charity’s fidgeting hands into her lap just as Chas and Tracy come wandering over and slump down a short distance beside them. “We don’t know what he’s planning to do yet.” She says, reaching up to cup Charity’s cheek in the palm of her hand. “You’re allowed to miss him, and you’re allowed to be upset that he’s leaving, but let’s just try and enjoy our time with him while he’s back, yeah?”

Charity offers a weak nod and a smile with just as much energy. It’s clear to Vanessa that there’s more to this than Charity’s willing to let on, something that’s playing on Vanessa’s mind, too, but she doesn’t push, letting Charity be pulled into a conversation with Chas when Cain trudges down onto the beach with a torch. He steps between them with a muttered ‘alright, princess,’ to Vanessa who gives him a curt nod in response and watches him with indifference while he lights the fire.

She doesn’t know how the nickname came about, or how it’s managed to stick amongst the crew of the Queen Anne, but she’s past the point of complaining about it now, finding a strange sort of comfort in the unexpected affiliation she’s built with Cain.

Vanessa slips back into a daze once the sun disappears behind the horizon, a cool breeze descending on the beach, and the only warmth Vanessa finds comes from the fire in the centre of a circle of villagers and Charity’s arm wrapped securely around her waist.

-

Noah fetches down a fancy, and expensive, looking crate of spiced wine an hour or so later, his own little crew following behind him, and the moment that Johnny and Moses spot him, they’re tearing off up the beach, screaming at the top of their lungs, again.

“Told you,” Vanessa teases, pointing the neck of the bottle of rum in her hand towards the three boys, “limpets."

Charity laughs quietly, dropping her voice to whisper softly into Vanessa’s ear, “think they’ll miss him as much as I will.”

“I don’t know,” Vanessa shrugs, “they’ll have each other to keep company, won’t they.”

“Good thing I’ve got you, then, isn’t it?” Charity pounces a moment later, cutting through the short distance between them to plant her lips against Vanessa’s. The fire seems to grow brighter, washing out the inky blackness of the night sky with an orange glow that somehow manages to pool low in her stomach when Charity slides her hand up Vanessa’s thigh.

Humming, Vanessa slips her hands into Charity’s hair, keeping her from backing away when Billy whistles suggestively from the other side of the bonfire. “Definitely a good thing.”

“You gonna put each other down for a second?” Noah’s deep voice, deeper than the last time he was home, grunts from above them. “I’ve got wine.”

Charity chuckles against Vanessa’s lips, a warm puff of air draughting across her mouth when she pulls away. They both turn their attention towards Noah, grinning at the sight. “Was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show up to your own party, kid.” Charity jokes, patting the sand beside her.

“I’ve been with you lot all mornin’, so we weren’t going to.” Noah says as he drops down on the other side of Charity. “Jacob wanted to head over to the caves…” He trails off, cracking open the top of the crate with the edge of his knife to pull out the two bottles of wine, handing one to Charity and the other behind him, Tracy snatching it out of his hand greedily. “We’re going later instead.”

“You miss your old mum?” Charity smirks, reaching out to tickle Noah’s ribs the way she does with Moses and Johnny, and Vanessa can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips when Noah swats Charity’s hands away, blushing.

“No,” he lies around a sly smile, “this is where all the good stuff is.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he points over to the barrels that Marlon and Jimmy had been stacking before.

“I’ll ignore that comment if you tell us what you’ve been up to.” Charity slaps the back of his head playfully. “Not wasting my ship, are you?”

Noah’s face lights up and Charity suddenly seems to forget their conversation from earlier, that static agitation drifting from her shoulders like the ash rising out of the top of the fire, and Vanessa notices with a start that the rest of the villagers have grown quiet, excited to listen to yet another story about Noah and the Merciless.

“Could tell you about a Spanish fleet that nearly sunk her,” Noah teases, laughing when Charity gasps in horror and swings for him again, “or you want to hear about Captain Bones’ treasure?” He asks wiggling his eyebrows temptingly, Johnny and Moses calling impatiently for the latter.

Charity listens just as intently as the others do, and Vanessa finds herself content on watching Charity and Noah, purposefully ignoring the way the hairs stand up on the back of her neck when her eyes drift over to the flames licking up into the black of the sky. Ignores the way the surface of her skin instantly turns cold, despite the heat billowing in front of her, when flashes of faces and figures dance in the burning embers.

“_Capt’n Bones once sailed alone, on a calm and empty sea._” Vanessa knows the tale as Noah speaks the first line in what’s supposed to be a mysterious air, remembers it clearly from her childhood, but her mind is unable of focussing on Noah’s voice, drifting further and further towards the flashes within the fire. “_I know what to do, I’ll hire a crew, and no more lonely be.”_

The crackling of the logs burning at the bottom of the pit mix unnervingly with the memories of cold laughter, malicious and cruel, and Vanessa feels her throat tightening in response. Remembering the flames reflecting in icy grey eyes as though they were the source of the scorching heat against her skin.

“_There’s nary a soul, who’ll sail for my gold, for wicked I’ve done with glee_.”

The echoes of laughter sound far away in her ears and when Charity’s hand squeezes tightly around hers, Vanessa barely manages to return the gesture, her body numb.

“Ness?” Its Charity’s lips close to the shell of her ear, her voice breaking through the bubble of panic surrounding her, that pulls Vanessa from her haze. It takes a moment for the beach to come back into focus, the blur across Charity’s face dissipating slowly until Vanessa’s eyes zone in on the slight frown of concern that’s etching across her features.

“Sorry, what?” Vanessa asks, blinking quickly.

“Noah’s lost his mind,” Charity says slowly, trying to smile despite the obvious worry in her voice, “thinks he’s found himself some cursed treasure.”

It takes Vanessa a good four seconds before she can respond, her brain working slower than it should be and it has nothing to do with the finished bottle of rum and the half empty bottle of wine that sits between her and Charity. “You what?” She blurts, only growing more confused when Noah laughs low in the back of his throat.

“That’s what she just said.” Noah juts a thumb in Charity’s direction.

“Cursed?” Vanessa asks, arching a sceptical eyebrow as she glances quickly between them both, hoping to find the answer on their faces.

Noah slouches back into the sand. “Tracy believes me, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.” Tracy drops her cup, spilling crimson wine across the white sand.

“She’s drunk.” Charity says pointedly. “She doesn’t get a say; she’d believe Paddy was a mermaid if you stuck a pair of shells on his-”

“There’s nothing to have a say on.” Noah kicks a foot out in frustration. “Cursed or not, there’s treasure, and that means gold.” He says with a simple shrug, “lots of it.”

Charity takes a long sip from the bottle of wine, looking over the bottom of it to meet Vanessa’s eyes, a smile shining in the deep green pools of her irises. “Where’d you hear this fairy tale, then?”

“Heard some disgraced Red Coat talking about it, din’t a?” Noah says, sitting up enthusiastically now that Charity seems willing to listen.

“Where?” Vanessa throws a blind eye to the fact that it’s the mention of a Red Coat that piques her interest and not cursed treasure.

“Tortuga.” Charity’s head whips round with so much force, that Tracy topples over with a squeak behind them when her eyes follow the movement. “Before you slap me again,” Noah hides his head behind his arms, already wincing, “they’ve all been chased out, not a British ship in sight.”

“More concerned about Kim flippin’ Tate, kid.” Charity snaps when the vein in her forehead begins to pulse with blood angrily.

“Look,” Noah sighs, dropping his arms and reaching out for the wine in Charity’s hands, “do you have any idea how much the King is offering for you two alone?” Pointing the bottle between Vanessa and Charity, he gives them a purposeful look that makes Vanessa think back to the conversation she’d had with Chas and Tracy hours before, because she doesn’t have any idea, confined to the island and its shore line. And yes, it’s by choice, they could very easily jump on a ship right now if they wanted to and risk it all, but it’s never going to be that easy, not when there’s so much at stake. “This treasure, mum, we could use it to pay off the debts, yours, Ness’ even the rest of the crew with plenty left over.”

Charity softens at his confession, reaching across to pat the top of his hand affectionately. Vanessa feels her cheeks rise around a smile at the sight. “Kid, I know you-” but Charity cuts herself off before she can finish voicing her thoughts, face dropping in confusion, “what do you mean ‘we’?”

Vanessa recognises the spike of excitement in her chest before she feels it, eyes zeroing in on Noah carefully, silently willing him to ask what she hasn’t had the nerve to ask herself.

“We haven’t worked out the details yet, still need to work out how we’re going to do it,” he says clearing his throat and straightening up a bit more, but his eyes drop down to the bottle almost as though he’s embarrassed to ask Charity. “It’s just- it looks like we might need some help.”

“Noah…” Charity’s voice drops a couple of octaves and she snatches the bottle from his hands, gulping down the remaining dregs.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure that there really was something out there.” He rushes out through a hurried breath, desperation seeping through his tone. “We just need the Queen Anne for a couple of weeks.”

“And when you say the Queen Anne,” Vanessa finds herself shuffling closer, “you mean us an’ all?”

“You are the captain.” Noah shrugs like it’s obvious, clearly oblivious to the way Vanessa’s heart is pounding in her chest. She wants to correct him, because technically she isn’t, she just managed to bark out a few orders under pressure and somehow the crew had listened to her, but her hearts beating so fast against her ribs that she doesn’t.

“This is a lot, for a story you heard from a drunk in Tortuga of all places, Noah.” Hesitantly, she looks over to Charity and finds a similar expression of disbelief on her face that she knows is on her own.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Charity groans, burying her face into her hands. “You don’t seriously believe this silly ghost story, do you?”

“Mum,” Noah starts, “I can go through everything we know with you both tomorrow, yeah? But I need you to trust me on this, this is the real thing.”

Charity sighs, relenting. “I do trust you, love.” She says, taking his hand in her own. “But we can’t just drop everything ‘ere, we’ve got Johnny and Moses, don’t we?” Turning back to her for some support, Vanessa can only muster up a half-hearted smile.

“Your mum’s right, Noah,” but as she speaks, she knows even he can hear the regret in her tone, “it’s a lot to risk.”

Noah, while he doesn’t seem surprised, drops his shoulders in disappointment, “even if there isn’t any treasure at the end of it,” he picks at the hem of his sleeve as he frowns, “don’t you want to get away from here for a while? Two months at the most,” he says, then quickly adds a, “probably.”

Charity stares at Vanessa for a long moment, eyes scrutinising every inch of her face and Vanessa can tell she’s not doing a good job of hiding her eagerness, because one of Charity’s eyebrows rises carefully and something turns calm in her eyes. “First thing tomorrow, show me these plans and convince me that this isn’t just another ghost story or somethin’, okay?” Noah’s cut off from a premature celebration when Charity holds her hand up to stop him, “An’ then we’ll think about it.”

Noah nods enthusiastically and behind Charity’s back, Vanessa gives Noah a wide smile.

-

Charity shifts beside Vanessa, groaning as her eyes flutter open and she finds Vanessa wide awake. “Bad dream?” She asks groggily, brushing her messy hair out of her face.

Vanessa shakes her head, keeping her eyes glued to the beams that cross the ceiling of their low bedroom ceiling. “Haven’t slept.” She says, accepting Charity’s hand in her own when it winds across her stomach. Despite the half bottle of wine and the rum that had be consumed between the pair of them, Vanessa doesn’t find sleep willing to take her anytime soon. 

Charity lets out a gentle sigh, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at Vanessa, waiting for her to meet her eyes with her own. “I do, y’know?” Frowning, Vanessa forces her gaze to hold Charity’s. “Miss it.” Vanessa blushes, realising with a ripple of embarrassment that her conversation with Chas and Tracy that evening hadn’t been as subtle as she’d thought. But Charity’s quick to cut off the apology waiting on the tip of Vanessa’s tongue when she drops her lips to hers, barely holding the contact before she pulls away. “An’ I know you do, too.”

Vanessa smiles, her lips stretching into a line. “Is it wrong that I really want to go with him?” She murmurs quietly, “treasure or not.”

“Nope.” Charity states so simply that it surprises Vanessa after how keen she’d seemed to want to shoot down Noah’s offer only hours before. “‘Cause I’m actually considering it… Treasure or not.” She says with a tired looking smirk, pulling Vanessa into her front and turning them onto their side so that she can bury her face into the back of Vanessa’s neck.

“What about the kids?” Vanessa whispers, feeling the exhaustion melt into her bones when Charity drops a kiss to her shoulder, thawing away the icy feeling that keeps her awake at night when thoughts of that scar on her hip finds itself working towards the forefront of her mind.

“It’s like you said before, love,” Charity starts, holding Vanessa tighter as she talks, keeping her body from falling apart without needing to be asked, “they’ve got each other for when we aren’t here, Moses is used to it,” she doesn’t say it bitterly the way it should sound, or sad and off the shoulder, but as a matter of fact and Vanessa finds herself smiling.

“Tough like you, that one.” Vanessa brings their locked hands up to her mouth, speaking into the back of Charity’s knuckles.

“I wish.” Charity chuckles, a hot breath ghosting across Vanessa’s cool skin. “But it wouldn’t be like last time, would it? We won’t be away for months on end without a plan,” she states like she’s trying to reassure herself as well as Vanessa, “couple’a months to see if Noah’s lost his mind or not, then we’ll be home.”

“Couple of months.” Vanesa repeats with a soft nod of her head, feeling her vision grow dark and lazy and finally drifts off with Charity holding her against her chest.


	2. Back on the Docks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones a bit longer, but its where the story starts to really kick off.   
Hope you all enjoy!

“Nope.” Charity straightens the hat out on the top of her head and Vanessa finds herself transfixed by the sight before her. “Not a chance, kid,” Charity’s dressed in that white shirt and leather pants and Vanessa can’t tear her eyes away from her, looking every bit the part of Captain of the Merciless. “That’s not going to work, you’re going to die, an’ you’re gonna get my ship _blown up_.” Charity states dismissively, blowing a puff of smoke over the rumpled maps that scatter the bar top of the Woolpack.

Jacob huffs out a petulant sneer and stomps away from the two crews as yet another one of his plans is brushed under the rug, and slumps down into the vacated seat beside Vanessa. “Don’t let her wind you up, she’s just…” Vanessa wrinkles her nose in thought, “excited.” She settles on, smirking, but her eyes remain glued to Charity, watching while she points with the pipe in her hand. Jacob rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat, not offering up an audible response.

“She’s not _your_ ship. Anyroad, shouldn’t your captain be making these decisions?” Noah crosses his arms over his chest stubbornly when Charity cuts him off from offering up any kind of input.

“Ness,” Charity calls, giving a nod of her head, motioning for Vanessa to join them. “Take a look.” 

Vanessa has to muster up a lot more will power than she cares to admit, to pull her eyes away from Charity and _that_ hat, to look down at the maps and diagrams of a ship she doesn’t recognise. “Technically I’m not the captain.” She mutters, blushing under two crews sets of eyes.

“Unanimous vote, princess.” Cain grunts and pushes a bottle of rum into Vanessa’s chest, moving past her to take her vacated seat beside Jacob who scurries off the second he sits down.

“Big word for you, Cain.”

Charity smiles softly, shifting along the bar to make room for her. “You became the captain of that ship when you gave the order to storm the Red Coat infested beaches of Tortuga.” She’s only slightly teasing with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows, oblivious to the way her words settle with a blissful warmth in Vanessa’s chest and an uncomfortable weight across her shoulders.

A shy smile draws Vanessa’s lips upwards before she manages to steel her features, trying to remember the way Charity had carried herself on the Merciless, how she’d channelled that two years ago at the helm of the Queen Anne. She manages to sober up her face, settling on an expression of indifference. “What have we got so far then?” She asks like she’s not been listening intently for the past half hour, but despite her efforts, Charity shoots her a gentle smile, one that brightens the green in her eyes.

“Right,” Noah begins by pulling out one of the maps from the bottom of the pile, gesturing to a section of coast somewhere miles south of their island, “the Red Coat in Tortuga mentioned he’d hired a Navy ship – the HMS Swallow – to make the trip for him. They have the map.” He taps his finger on the paper, “they’ll be here in a week, give or take.”

“So, if we want to find the treasure first, we need to cut them off and take the map?” Vanessa gets the overall plan, it’s probably simpler than the one they’d come up with to rescue Tracy, but she needs the small confirmations in a vein hope that it’ll make her decision to leave easier. Noah smiles and Vanessa gives a simple shrug, “well,” she says, turning to Charity, “ambush.”

“Like when we took the Queen Anne?” Charity teases, nudging her shoulder with the memory.

“Yes, but this time it’ll be us doing the ambushing,” Vanessa says, shooting Charity a playful glare. “Hopefully, the Red Coat was drunk enough that he won’t remember his conversation with Noah, so there’s no reason the crew will be expecting any problems.”

“It’ll need both crews to take it.” Cain leans over the bar top and scrutinises the blueprints for the Navy ship carefully. 

“The Merciless is bigger but the Queen Anne is faster.” Charity explains pulling out more pieces of paper from the uneven stack. “If we can cut her off, Noah you can sink her from behind.”

Vanessa frowns faintly, however, quickly stepping in to voice her own trepidations, “we’ll have to board it first,” she says and holds her hand out for the sheets of paper that Cain is still looking through, “we need to get that map and I’m not tha’ keen about diving down to the bottom of the sea to get it.” Charity puffs quietly on her pipe, content with listening to Vanessa’s voice. “This way, we can distract the crew from the Merciless at the same time, they won’t know what’s hit them til’ it’s too late.”

The smile that Charity gives Vanessa then, brilliant and unwavering with pride, has Vanessa’s heart thudding hard in her chest as her own mouth cracks into a grin. She doesn’t need to hear the approval that she can see clearly dancing in the hazel and green of Charity’s eyes, but she steps closer to Vanessa anyway, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “Now, that,” she says, pointing a finger at Noah, “is a good plan.”

“Yeah, it is. Simple, but it’ll work.” He admits, chuckling lowly. “But from here,” Noah points at the section of bar top that isn’t covered in paper, “to here,” he trails the tip of his finger over to where they’re planning to intercept the Navy ship, “is at least three weeks, yeah?” Charity nods, glancing down for barely a second before working out the sum in her head. “So,” his smile drops slightly, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Vanessa or Charity, “if this does go to plan, not saying it won’t, Ness, we’ll have to stock up on supplies somewhere close by.”

Vanessa shoulder’s sag dejectedly. “We should be good for water,” she says consciously. There’s been a storm brewing a couple of miles away for the past two days now, and with a few empty barrels on both ships ready to load up, it shouldn’t be an issue. “But yeah,” she flips the map so that it’s facing the right way up for the rest of the crew and drops her finger blindly to the closest island, “we’ll have to dock here.”

“Tortuga,” Noah nods knowingly. “That okay?”

Cain and Charity nod in unison but Vanessa doesn’t move. “You sure it’s clear?”

“If I say it is, are you both in?”

“Noah,” Vanessa drops her voice in warning and tries to ignore the way her mind strays back to the last time the Queen Anne had docked in Tortuga’s harbour. The whole Island had been crawling with soldiers, the streets next to empty bar the Red Coats and their rifles with Kim Tate standing in the square outside the townhall with him-

She swallows around the thick lump in her throat and prays to god that no one notices the way she feels the blood rush from her face. 

“_Yes_, it’s clear and safe.” He relents with a sigh, holding his arms open in defence. “So,” the smile returns to his face, “you in?”

Vanessa looks to Charity, searching her eyes to find them mirroring the excitement in Vanessa’s heart, pumping the anticipation through the rest of her body, despite the trepidation she feels towards what may come after taking the map. “Yes,” Charity groans with feigned boredom, “we’ll help.”

Noah only just manages to stifle his enthusiasm, curling his hands into fists on the bar and gives it a strong thud. “Brilliant.”

“Right to the point.” Charity snorts, reaching up to ruffle Noah’s hair. “You better be right about this though, kid.”

“‘Course I’m right,” Noah shrugs cockily, beginning to pack up the maps into a neat roll that he tucks beneath his arm, “wouldn’t ‘ave asked you if I weren’t.”

“Well let’s hope you are.” Vanessa says as she untangles herself from Charity, “‘Cause it’s going to be embarrassing if we get the crew back together an’ it turns it out it’s a load of rubbish.” She teases, linking her hand with Charity’s and tugging her towards the backroom.

-

The heels of her boots clunk heavily against the planks of the dock, the sound bouncing up off the waves beneath and echoing around the cove in time with the beating of her heart. There’s a cool breeze in the air, carried in on the thick, black clouds that are looming ever closer, creeping through the wall of fog in the distance. It blows her hair in a whirlwind around her face. She huffs out an irritated breath of a sigh, ignoring Charity’s laughter from beside her and drops her hand, reaching up to try and tame her hair.

“We’ll have to get you one of these.” Charity tugs at the front point of her hat, pulling it low ever her eyes. “Think you’ll suit it.”

“Why do I need my own,” Vanessa smirks, snatching Charity’s hat off her head and pulling it down on her own, “when I can have yours?” She tears off down the dock when Charity lunges for her, laughing at the top of her lungs as she sprints away from her.

With her long legs, Charity catches up easily, scooping Vanessa up around her waist. Her laughter quickly turns into a shrieking squeal when Charity starts spinning her in a tight circle on the spot until she drops her back down to the dock gently. “Jesus,” Charity’s panting and her cheeks are flushed red and hot, “nearly broke me back.”

Vanessa laughs breathlessly and turns in Charity’s arms to slump her back against her chest. “Think this whole adventure has us forgettin’ we’re not that young anymore.”

Dropping her chin to Vanessa’s shoulder, Charity lets out a quiet sigh. “Didn’t we have that figured out two an’ a half years ago, love?”

“Thought we did.” Vanessa pulls in a long breath of sea air, tasting the salt on her tongue as the choppy waves spraying up over the edge of the dock. “Might be different this time, though.”

Charity’s head bobs up and then down again when Vanessa shrugs her shoulders. “Hopefully there’ll be no need for any rescuing this time around, eh?” Charity’s hand reaches for Vanessa’s, immediately drawn to the ring on her finger, and Vanessa recognises the silent plea in Charity’s words despite the playfulness lacing her tone.

“Don’t worry,” she says, her own fingers tracing the band on Charity’s hand, “I don’t plan on ending this trip with a noose around my neck.”

“Thank god for tha’.” Charity teases, dropping her lips to Vanessa’s jaw. “Don’t think I could deal with that kind of mess again.”

Vanessa carefully turns in Charity’s arms, winding her hands behind the back of Charity’s neck and leans up to press a kiss to her lips. “There won’t be anything to worry about if no one shows up.” She says more dejectedly than she means to, but the quiet that they fall into draws Vanessa’s focus to the very empty dock that leads out towards the Queen Anne. “They’re late.”

“They’ll come.” Charity’s lips straighten into a line as she nods surely, face void of any doubt, “just give them a few minutes.” Vanessa tries to do the same, to let Charity’s certainty reassure her, but there’s a worrying niggle of doubt that has her turning towards the beach, facing up the empty dock with a full profile view of the island. Her eyes zero in on the shadowed path that leads up to the village through the thick treeline, willing someone to step out onto the beach because if they don’t, then Vanessa’s gotten her hopes up for nothing.

“Maybe we should have asked everyone ourselves,” Vanessa mutters quietly, more to herself than to Charity, “I’m not sure Cain’s the best person for the job. He’s probably threatenin’ everyone as we speak…” Charity chuckles quietly but doesn’t make a move to say anything in response, and Vanessa thinks that maybe, Charity is just as nervous as she is, waiting for the old crew of the Merciless to pledge themselves to the Queen Anne and their new captain.

“Speaking of Cain,” Charity speaks up after a few tense moments, “he gonna be your First Mate?” She asks, eyes dropping to a seagull that’s perched itself on top of a nearby post, “like he was when you lot were on the Queen Anne?”

Vanessa feels her eyebrows knit together at the question, a frown forming on her forehead, “not really thought about it,” she says, “do I need one?” She thinks back to their time on the Merciless, a small smile tugging at her lips, when Charity was the Captain and Cain her First Mate. It had been easy for Vanessa to spend as much time as she had with her then, Charity maybe using Cain more than she should have, leaving him up at the helm while they snuck off down to Charity’s quarters.

Charity turns to Vanessa, smiling wide with soft eyes. “Yeah, you’ll need one.”

Vanessa blushes at the amusement in Charity’s tone and ducks her head, “would kind’a make sense to ask you, I s’pose, wouldn’t it?” Charity’s smile widens at that, “but then I’ll have to sleep on my own while you sail, won’t a?” Vanessa’s lips purse into a feigned pout and she gives a short shrug. “Can I ‘ave two? Have you an’ Cain?”

Charity lets out a loud blurt of a laugh, head falling back as the sound fills the open air, but just as she makes to speak, she’s cut off, “bit unconventional.” Cain’s voice pulls Charity and Vanessa from their conversation, both turning to face the length of the dock and matching smiles splitting their lips into wide, bright grins at the sight. “But then again,” he says, waving lazily at them, “two women on a pirate ship, can’t get much more unconventional than tha’.”

He’s not alone, Marlon and Paddy flank his sides, while Jimmy, Aaron and Billy hurry up behind them. Vanessa feels her heart let out a relieved thud that pushes a sigh from her lungs. Comforted by the knowledge that at least the men she’d been carted off to the gallows with, still want to stand by her side, even if the whole adventure, as Noah had so excitedly put it, could all be futile in the end.

“Watch it,” Charity quips menacingly, but she’s smiling despite herself and claps Cain on the back in greeting, “it’s not unconventional’, it’s _progressive_.”

“There’s a few more on their way down.” Paddy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “quite a few more actually.”

“Who?” Vanessa asks quickly, her voice rising through her excitement.

“Bob, and Sam,” Marlon says, side stepping Cain to stand beside Vanessa, “Robert-”

“David, Pete,” Aaron grunts. “And Liam and Rodney are on their way down an’ all.”

Charity grimaces, however, her top lip turning up in discontent, and even Vanessa knows that most of these men have absolutely no experience of being on a ship, but knows at least Liam could come in useful after they take the Swallow. “Could be worse.” Charity says, “Least Bear isn’t tagging along, or I think I’d actually have to think about using that plank idea.” Charity turns to Vanessa and rolls her eyes playfully.

“I did ask him.” Paddy speaks up but quickly jumps to explain himself when Charity whirls on him with a face of horrified anger. “Oh, no, he didn’t want to,” he says, holding his hands up in defence, eyes wide, “said he was too good at being a pirate and wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone.”

“When has _Bear_ ever been a pirate?” Marlon questions, face twisting in confusion. Paddy shrugs.

“When has Bear ever been _too good_ at anything?”

“Anyway,” Vanessa says, drawing out the word and eyeing the men warningly as she launches into relaying the plans that they’d made earlier that morning with Noah. Charity and Cain chip in here and there, but they seem happy enough to leave Vanessa to it for the most part.

As much as she appreciates the support, though, Vanessa isn’t sure how she feels about the mounting pressure building with the details coming together. The newfound crew of the Queen Anne have plenty of questions to asks, questions she’s positive Charity would know the answer to without a second of hesitation, but Vanessa stumbles over her words, taking longer than she should to give them a straight answer.

However, they don’t seem to take much notice of this, giving her time and their full attention, smiling when she feels herself fumbling and offering up suggestions when she has absolutely no clue what the answer to ‘how many cannons can she carry if we have that amount of ammo?’ is. 

“What’re we doin’ about the sails?” Jimmy asks a few moments after Marlon has let out a little excited squeal once Aaron and Billy have fully come around and agreed to another trip out on the Queen Anne. “Can’t have those flapping in the wind.”

Vanessa turns to eye up the ship, the almost pristine white sails flow in the breeze that blows stronger that high above sea level. It doesn’t look the way a pirate ship should, it’s too neat, too unscarred by battle, even after the Merciless had taken it - the repairs leave the Queen Anne looking unblemished – and not to mention the god awful crests that have been expertly sewn into the white fabric.

“New sails.” Vanessa states simply, turning back to the crew to catch Billy’s eye. “Think you can sort somethin’?”

Billy seems to light up at being asked to attempt such a task, nudging Aaron’s arm with his own. “We’ll sort something.” He says quickly, and Aaron nods. “Any colour in mind?”

A slow smirk creeps onto Vanessa’s lips and she turns to Charity to find a matching smirk mirroring her own. “Black?” Charity asks with a knowing lilt to her voice.

Vanessa grins.

-

She doesn’t have the faintest idea about anything regarding ledgers, mortar power, hold capacity or how many knots or how much time it’s going to take them to reach the HMS Swallow before they miss their chance. But Charity sits her down at the small table in their small bedroom in their small home and explains it as simply as she can once they’ve put the boys to bed.

“So,” Charity says, flipping open one of the old ledgers from the Merciless, “this is how you track crew intake.” She says, and Vanessa shuffles closer to her, slumping against Charity’s side tiredly.

“Intake?” Vanessa asks, feeling suddenly overwhelmed again, eyes stinging either from exhaustion or stress.

But despite Vanessa’s obvious frustration, Charity offers her a reassuring smile and reaches for her hand. “How much food and supplies we need while were out, how much we take from other ships, and shares across the crew.” Vanessa rubs a hand down her face and groans. “You know,” Charity mumbles, turning to Vanessa, “I can just do all of this for you?”

Vanessa lets out a defeated sigh and wanders over to their bed, dropping down with another, heavier sigh, and lets her eyes flutter closed. She’s thought about it, a lot over the past couple of days, actually, but Vanessa doesn’t want to give up this early on, before they’ve even set sail. If the crew see her as their captain – Vanessa still isn’t sure why that is – she has to act like one, a good one. She can’t just leave all the boring stuff to Charity while she smiles and acts like she knows what she’s doing, barking out orders that she probably won’t be able to take credit for in the first place. “Pass it here.” Vanessa opens her eyes and holds her hands out for the ledger. “Show me how to be useful.”

Charity laughs, moving around the foot of the bed to climb into the other side. “Don’t be daft,” she says, reopening the book at the same page as before, but before she can jump into anything, there’s a tentative knock on the door.

“You two decent?” It’s Debbie, her voice carrying through the wood.

“Yeah, come in.” Charity calls, passing Vanessa the ledger. A second later, the door creeks open and Debbie peaks around the side, hesitant. “Give over,” Charity scoffs at the sight.

Debbie cracks a smile, moving over to the table and plonking herself down into one of the chairs. “Came to see how you’re doing.”

Charity opens her arms and gives herself a once over, making Vanessa roll her eyes at the sight. “Alive.” She says, “how were you expecting us to be doing?”

Debbie shrugs looking bored and grabs up the bottle of rum that’s been sat forgotten on the edge of the table. “Excited? I don’t know, that’s why I came to see.” She pours herself a glass, about half the amount that Charity usually pours herself.

“Debs.” Charity sighs perceptively. “What do you want?”

Vanessa senses there’s something playing on Debbie’s mind, if the way she’s purposefully avoiding making eye contact with her mother is anything to go by. “Well you’ll be off again soon, won’t you?” She starts, and Vanessa stands with those words.

“I’m gonna give you two some space,” as she speaks, both Charity and Debbie go to protest, but she waves them off with a smile, “I’ll go down to Chas’.”

“You sure?” Charity asks, reaching out to take Vanessa’s hand.

“Yeah,” she says, leaning down and steadying herself on the bed post to press a kiss to Charity’s cheek, “I’ll see you later, Debs.”

Debbie gives her a brief wave before Vanessa closes the door behind her. The hallway’s dark, a dull orange glow slithering beneath their bedroom door is the only light that guides her past Moses and Johnny’s quiet bedroom, out into the living room and through the front door.

Vanessa’s flying through the village and past the Woolpack without even realising it, ledger tucked securely under her arm.

She’s heading back towards the beach, feet carrying her down the carriage warn track beneath the canopy of overhanging palm trees. Vanessa doesn’t realise how dark it actually is until she reaches the sand, free of the shade cast by the trees and finds herself still engulfed by darkness.

But she finds relief in the knowledge that Doug lights torches along the seafront every night and her heart eases up its hammering against her chest when she spots him finishing up. “Evening, Vanessa.” He greets her with a wide smile, cutting off the shanty he’d been humming to himself and comes to a slow stop in front of her. “Charity not with you?” Doug glances around as if searching for the woman in question.

“She’s home with Debbie.” Vanessa says stiffly, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end. But it’s not Doug’s presence that causes the reaction, it’s the bite in the wind and the creaking of the dock, the sound distorted and ominous to her own ears. She eyes the torches longingly, wanting nothing more than to perch herself down beside the burning light as though that alone will be a source of protection. “Fancied a wander.”

“Good night for it.” He says, nodding while he links his hands behind his back and turns to stand beside Vanessa. When Vanessa doesn’t reply straight away, Doug nods towards the moorings, “she’s looking good.”

Vanessa follows his line of sight out to the Queen Anne, lanterns lit on the upper decks and she thinks she spots a set of silhouettes in the rigging. “That she is.” Vanessa nods but doesn’t attempt to keep this conversation going.

Doug nods again, whistling awkwardly. “Well, good night, Vanessa.”

“Night, Doug.” And with that, Vanessa hurries down the sand, tugging her boots off in the process. She feels the cool grains work their way between her toes when she drops down a couple of feet away from one of the torches and flicks open the ledger.

She might as well try and work out how to do this kind of stuff for herself, or at least attempt to.

_‘Five hundred and thirty-two pieces of gold,’ _she reads, her brain slowing dumbly, resigning itself to the fact that she doesn’t want to go any further. ‘_Spanish fleet twenty knots away fro-’ _

Her eyes rise back up towards the Queen Anne, the sound of Billy and Aaron laughing and talking between themselves as they hoist the new sails up onto the masts carry across the gentle waves. The fabric looks pitch black, even against the dark navy sky, and Vanessa feels a rush of something exciting working its way through her stomach at the thought of seeing them in daylight. 

‘_Twenty-one pieces each for the crew.’ _Vanessa flips a couple of pages on, landing on Charity’s scribbled handwriting of lists of supplies. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she lets out a steady groan and slams the ledger shut.

There’s a cool breeze blowing in off the sea and the moon is just beginning to shine through the wall of fog way out in the distance. The clouds are too thick above to let the shine of the stars break through, but Vanessa finds herself squinting up at the black sky anyway, wrapping her arms around her shins when she pulls her knees up to her chest.

She hates the dark now. It had never been an issue for her before her last visit to Port Royal, but now, the air seems harsher, hard like ice when she inhales and as sharp as nails on the exhale.

There’s a little part of her that’s terrified to turn around, to glance out of the corner of her eye. Each breath is held in unnerved trepidation, just _in case_.

The flames of the torch beside her flicker when the wind grows stronger and the dusty top coat of sand blows across her feet and shins like a million tiny fingers pressing into her skin. Flashes of light disorientate her view of the small, makeshift harbour of their island home, and the scene changes with a slow, almost confounded blink, to one equally familiar. The excitement on her skin evaporates, leaving the hairs on her arms standing on end with a freezing sensation, the same icy cold feeling of pouring rain hammering down against her body with the force of stabbing pin pricks.

The Merciless and the Queen Anne are gone, and a menacing fleet of Navy ships bob peacefully in their places. The sky above is a swirling hurricane of greys and blues, the speed in which they turn bring with the claps of deafening thunder to Vanessa’s ears and blinding strikes of pitch fork lightening. A fitting scene to sit behind a raging inferno that’s beginning to engulf the dock around her, smoke filling her lungs with a poisonous burn as the wood beneath her, soaked with water, crumbles and scorches with every lick of flame against it.

The right side of her face feels cold and wet, cheek pressed into the wood and she breathes in a dirty puddle of salty and ash filled water, watching on helplessly while a pair of uniform boots step ever closer, oblivious to the searing pain in her hip.

Each thud of a heel, the muffled thump of a toe, breaks Vanessa’s resolve. It’s like the ticking of the clock, counting down the seconds, the beating of the drum as he stalks closer. Death incarnate.

“Ness?”

Vanessa blinks hastily, the light from the memories snapping away into a sudden darkness until she’s looking out at the Queen Anne again, the sight tilted on its side, her cheek pressed into the cold sand.

“Doug told me you were down ‘ere.”

She bolts into an upright position, wincing at the phantom pain that thrums along with her heart beat in her side. “Takin’ a nap?” Charity asks, voice light and teasing and she drops down to Vanessa’s side.

It only takes her a couple of seconds to remember where she is, that she’s safe on the beach and not back in Port Royal with Bails looming over her, but she turns to face Charity like she’s just been slapped across the face.

Charity lowers her eyes, quickly searching Vanessa’s body for an explanation for her vacant expression. “You alright?” 

Vanessa manages a nod, “yeah,” she breathes, then shakes her head, ridding her mind of the fog clouding her consciousness. “Just tired.” Vanessa reaches out and grabs Charity’s hand, squeezing it a little too tightly, but if Charity notices, she doesn’t say anything. Vanessa’s thankful for that small liberty, after all, how could she explain what’s just happened? How can she tell Charity that sometimes she gets like this, sees things that aren’t really there, that she sees and hears a dead man laughing when the wind blows in that way that makes her skin crawl with fear? Charity would think she’s losing her mind, surely, and that settles something heavy low in Vanessa’s gut, a nervous tension that’s beginning to wind and coil to the point of snapping painfully. “How’s Debbie?”

Charity doesn’t seem convinced by her explanation or look as though she wants to feed her subject change, but she gives Vanessa the out she needs after a moment of silent musing. “She’s fine,” she says flippantly, waving a dismissive hand, “just wanted to tell me we have to come back alive.”

“Hope you told her that were the plan?” Vanessa feels her senses steadily coming back to her, can feel the ends of her fingers buzzing with the blood that rushes back into her veins.

“Told her they could try, but they can’t hang all of us.” Charity jokes nonchalantly, earning a teasing slap to her arm.

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “You’re as bad as each other, you two.” She says, dropping her head to Charity’s shoulder. “She good with helping Trace an’ Chas watch the boys while we’re away?”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Charity laughs, playing with the ring on Vanessa’s hand in her lap, “think Johnny’s more excited about getting to spend time with her than he is with us.” She feigns offence with her free hand coming up to her chest in shock, “Moses likes trying to nick Chas’ gun from behind the bar, so he’s excited, too.”

“Please, for the love of god, Charity,” Vanessa groans, “don’t let us leave tomorrow without bringing that _gun_with us. I’m still not over him lighting your hair on fire when he got hold of Paddy’s gun powder.” Her fingers lift subconscious to comb through the short ends of Charity’s hair.

Still laughing, Charity drops Vanessa’s unoccupied hand and wraps it around her shoulders, pulling her flush against her side. “You’re gonna be an amazing captain, y’know?”

Vanessa scoffs, but a deep rosy blush fills her cheeks, pulling away from Charity slightly to reach up and snatch her hat off her head, placing it on her own. “Don’t speak too soon.”

“I’m not,” Charity sounds so honest when she speaks, so full of belief in her own words, that Vanessa can’t fight the way her eyes flit up to find Charity’s and her heart warms instantly, thawing beneath her gaze, “‘cause it’s true, an’ you know that, too, so you need to stop worrying about,” she points blindly at the ledger laying forgotten in the sand, “all this, and just be yourself, okay?” Vanessa can only nod dumbly, silenced into a stupor by the way Charity’s staring straight into every inch of her body. “You managed when it was just you and the other’s; somehow kept everyone alive.” Vanessa doesn’t tell Charity how, for the majority of that time, without Charity by her side, Vanessa had hidden herself away below deck, and how it hadn’t been until Cain had brought her to her senses that she’d finally pulled herself together.

Wasn’t it her fault they’d been sent to the gallows in the first place? The small crew of the Queen Anne had been hesitant to dock in Tortuga, but Vanessa had been adamant that they wait for Charity. And it hadn’t made a difference how hard she’d tried, how steady her voice was or how indifferent her face had been when Bails had chained them up and tossed them into their cells, she’d made the call that had nearly gotten them killed.

Her fingers of her left hand drop to the wrist of her right, blindly tracing the scar on the soft patch of skin.

Vanessa knows that there’s a code, one she doesn’t pretend to understand, or wonder why the people around her stick to it so rigorously, but it’s why her crew seem so adamant and content with the idea of her becoming the captain. Even after what happened the last time, her own opinion on the matter be damned.

“I feel so out of my depth, Charity.” Vanessa whispers, eyes turning back to the Queen Anne. “I don’t know the things you do, with the ledgers and the ‘crew intake’ or how to give orders-”

Charity cuts Vanessa off, crashing her lips hard and purposefully against Vanessa’s and holds them steady and close until Vanessa feels the tension release her shoulders from their statue still tension. “I’m not going to let that get the better of you, yeah? Neither is Cain, surprisingly,” Charity reassures her, skating her thumb along Vanessa’s cheekbone softly, “one step at a time.”

Vanessa nods weakly, but she feels the defeat leave her body a moment later, “will you help me?” She asks weakly, “with all of that stuff?”

“‘Course, love. Promise.” 

-

Charity hasn’t been a morning person since they left the Merciless behind over two years ago now, and Vanessa has never found cause for complain, not when she gets to wake up with Charity’s face burrowed into the crook of her neck, snoring and mumbling softly in her sleep. Of course, it had taken the both of them some getting used to in the beginning, the ground beneath them didn’t have the gentle rock of the Merciless and the sunlight would stream through their window in patches, fighting through clouds and the leaves on the trees outside, casting the room in an emerald shade, unlike the bright illumination of colour through the stained glass windows on the Merciless.

But this morning, Charity’s beginning to rouse just as the sun starts to shine through the window, a slim stream of light cutting directly across their bodies, slicing them in half at the waist. The slight movement that dips the bed when Charity shifts, wakes Vanessa up from her restless sleep, and she turns into the warmth beside her instinctively.

The sound of Moses and Johnny giggling quietly between themselves somewhere in the house, seeps through the gap beneath their bedroom door and Charity chuckles pleasantly in response.

“Do you think they know?” Vanessa asks quietly, sitting herself up against the headboard. She untangles her feet from the thin sheets, the heat of the early morning sun warming the room quickly.

Charity knows Vanessa well enough by now to not need clarification or explanation when she asks questions like this. Instead, Charity always gives her this sort of soft and understanding smile, one that graces her features now as she shuffles up the bed to sit beside Vanessa. “I think they get that we’re not gonna be around for a while.” Charity presses her upper arm against Vanessa’s, skin warm and reassuring in its simplicity.

Vanessa hasn’t left Johnny for more than a day since getting him back, and that was only when Charity had taken her to the other side of the island for a night to themselves. She doesn’t want to be that overbearing and protective kind of mother she used to encounter all the time before Frank had carted Tracy and her off to Port Royal, but she can’t deny the nervous energy she feels rippling through every vein and nerve in her body when she thinks about leaving both Johnny and Moses for who knows how long.

There’s a rational part of her brain that tells her it’s no big deal, that they’re still young enough not to worry about Charity and Vanessa going away for a couple of weeks – that they probably won’t even notice if Jack and Sarah are with them keeping them busy. But there’s an irrational part that has her worrying that maybe Vanessa won’t want to come back, not once she’s had a taste of life on a ship again. That maybe their kids won’t recognise them if they do come back.

Vanessa knows she’s worrying about nothing, though. Two months at the most, that’s how long her and Noah had worked out this would take, a month there, a month back, granted everything goes to plan, of course.

“You’re allowed to be excited about this, Ness.” Charity says carefully, reaching out to thread her fingers between Vanessa’s, “you don’t have to feel guilty.”

It’s a normal reaction, though, isn’t it? Vanessa had felt the same when she left Tracy, only feeling that guilt and anxiety subside once they’d agreed to go back for her. “Can you promise me something?” Vanessa asks, disconcerted by how broken and small her voice leaves her. But Charity nods, a small frown etching between her eyebrows when she turns to give Vanessa her full attention, “promise me we’ll come home at the end of it?”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation on Charity’s face where it looks as though she wants to ask something, confused by Vanessa’s request. But Vanessa has never known Charity to deny her anything, and not something as simple in theory, as this. “We’ll come home.” Charity nods assuredly, and Vanessa observes closely the way the green of Charity’s eyes darken, too. “I promise, Ness.”

Vanessa can only nod in response, but she feels her chest loosen around the tightness against her heart and she sighs out a breath of relief. “Want some breakfast?” She says after a beat of comfortable silence passes, allowing the radiating excitement to pass from Charity’s body to her own and feels it fill her with warmth. “Could be the last decent meal we have for a while.”

“Oh, you always know how to get me worked up,” Charity fans at her cheeks with her hand teasingly, shooting a mischievous smirk at Vanessa.

Vanessa scoffs and rolls her eyes in amusement when she climbs out of bed to make quick work of getting dressed. Charity follows suit, sticking as close to Vanessa as she can while changing, a hand dropping to the small of Vanessa’s back or Charity pressing herself flush against the length of Vanessa’s body, just because.

Vanessa feels her frown steadily creeping up into a determined smile, because Charity’s never been best when it comes to using words, and even her actions don’t always accurately represent what she’s trying to express, but Vanessa feels reassured in that moment. The irrational part of her brain retreating to a quiet whisper.

-

Debbie and Moira arrive a short while later with the horse and cart up from the farm, and Vanessa helps Charity load their duffels into the back before boosting Johnny and Moses on top of them, the boys more than happy to clamber in among their belongings to enjoy the short ride down to the harbour. Charity and Vanessa walk along side.

“Our Cain sorted?” Charity asks when they start the journey down through the village, Jimmy and Nicola emerging from their own home to follow behind, then Marlon, Ellis and Billy.

“Aye,” Moira says, giving a dull, unbothered, nod of her head, “he’s been down there for a while now.”

They pass the Woolpack, the sound of the cart’s wheels rattling against the ground alerting the villagers to its presence and pulling them out onto the track. Paddy and Chas no different as they step in line with the small convoy comprised of the two crews.

“Right grafter he is.” Charity teases, and Vanessa only just stifles her snicker when Moira snaps her head around to glare daggers at Charity. “Just sayin’,” Charity holds her hands up in defence when a mocking smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but when Moira only continues to glare, Charity rolls her eyes, “oh, give over,” she barks, “it were his choice to come back out with us.”

“Bet you had something to say about it, though.” Moira mutters bitterly under her breath before she turns back around.

Vanessa and Charity share an amused smile, but she doesn’t try to wind up Moira any more than she already has, perfectly aware that her bite is far worse than her bark.

It doesn’t take long for Charity to start up a conversation with Chas, but Vanessa feels her eyes drifting over to her every now and then during the short walk down to the beach. They’re making their way under the low hanging canopy of trees when Vanessa catches both Moses and Johnny peering curiously through the wooden panels of the side of the cart.

“What you two up to?” She asks, smiling teasingly and takes a step closer.

Johnny and Moses exchange a quick look before turning back to Vanessa. “You don’t look like a pirate.” Moses says inquisitively, giving Vanessa a once over.

She does the same, looking down at herself, and she supposes she doesn’t. Her clothes are clean for starters, but she guesses that won’t last long, because there’s only so much cleanliness that can be kept up consistently on a ship where fresh water needs to be rationed. “What am I missing?” Vanessa asks, needing to enjoy this one last game with her boys before they leave, feeling her heart give a dull tug towards their smiling faces.

Moses whispers conspiratorially into Johnny’s ear, “you don’t have a sword,” Johnny nods towards her hip then leans into Moses’s whispering mouth again, “an’ you don’t have a hat like mum.” 

Vanessa releases a quiet snigger, shaking her head in glee and takes a step closer to the cart so that she can reach up with both hands and ruffle their hair. “I do have a sword.” Vanessa says with an air of mystery that has the boy’s heads lifting up to stare over the top of the cart with wide eyes.

“Oh yeah?” Moses asks, eyeing her curiously again, “where is it then?”

“On the ship.” Vanessa lies, she’s actually not sure where it is. The last Vanessa remembers seeing her sword and dagger was back in Port Royal… after everything had gone pear shaped. “Hidden in a treasure chest.”

That has them whispering excitedly between themselves again and Vanessa smiles at the sight, because yes, she’s going to miss them and they’ll maybe miss Charity and her every now and then, but they’re young and excited about even the simplest of things, eyes open wide and awe struck to the world they live in.

They’ll be fine.

Vanessa hadn’t realised just how many of the villagers were split between the Queen Anne and the Merciless, granted, the majority of Noah’s crew were hired out from Tortuga and god knows where else across the globe, but she does recognise a few familiar faces crowding around where he’s stood at the far end of the beach. Vic, she’s just as good a cook as Marlon, and Vanessa can’t say she’s not a little bit jealous that she’s with Noah’s crew. Jacob and Ellis flank her sides, their youthful excitement palpable even from the opposite end of the beach, but she finds it a little bit odd that two families are split between the crews, David and Billy within her own. Though she doesn’t question it, after all Charity and Noah are in the same boat, so to speak. She’s sure she spots Matty hovering close to Ryan, too, but before she can catch sight of them, Charity cuts in front of her.

Vanessa blinks to adjust her vision to the shade that crosses her face and smiles up at Charity. “This is it.”

“It is.” Charity beams down at her, the sun illuminating the blonde of her hair like a halo. But before Vanessa can reply, Charity glances down at her boots in the sand and scuffs the tip of her toe against a piece of driftwood. “I found somethin’.”

“Oh?” Vanessa asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Well, Cain did, actually, this mornin’ when he was on the ship.” Charity rambles out in a characteristically Paddy fashion, but then lets her eyes drift up almost nervously to meet Vanessa’s. “These were under the bed.” She says, bringing her hand around to her front from where they’d been hiding behind her back to reveal Vanessa’s sword, still attached to the belt she’d warn two years ago, a string of beads hanging from the buckle that she’d bought during their first trip to Tortuga.

The sight makes her smile, her heart growing a couple of sizes in her chest with a notable thrum against her ribs, the first thing she wants to do is turn and find Johnny and Moses with a, ‘see, I _am_ a pirate,’ but think’s better of it because she’s not five. Instead, she’s about to whisper out a gentle ‘thank you’ until she focuses on Charity’s words. “These?” She asks, glancing down at the sword and up to Charity’s other hand still hidden behind her back.

“Your knife.” Charity states, eyes hardening, “I wasn’t sure if you’d want it back?”

That warmth seeps from Vanessa’s heart, the skin of her arms running cold despite the hot sun beating down on them. She musters up a stiff smile, lips thinning into a hard line, but she tries to hold Charity’s gaze and keep her own eyes as calm as she can, because the last thing either of them need right now is to be worrying about the state of Vanessa’s mental state. “Why wouldn’t I?” Vanessa asks with a little bit more bite to her words than she means to, but she does this thing, see, where she feels like she’s being doubted, being treat like a child. It doesn’t happen as much now, but back when the dreams would wake her up in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, or with the things she sees when it’s dark, things that aren’t really there, it was all she could see. Vanessa would get defensive and unpleasant, even when she didn’t mean to, and now she can feel herself slipping back into that frame of mind.

Charity doesn’t falter, nodding as she hands it over.

It’s clean now, not a spec of dirt or blood on it, even the grooves in the hilt still shine vivid gold, reflecting the sunlight. But Vanessa’s own reflection stares back at her within the blade, the edge harsh and intimidating, and her hands shake as she accepts it, but Charity purposefully pivots on her heel then, making a move to walk away, whether to save Vanessa the embarrassment of having to explain or because she doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of another biting remark.

Vanessa snaps her hand out quickly to grab Charity’s wrist, drawing her to a halt and waits for her to turn. When she does, her eyes are still hard and guarded, the way they get when Vanessa acts like this, all wary and unkind, but her face is softening steadily as Vanessa smiles crookedly up at her, “thank you,” she says like she should have a moment before instead of snapping irrationally. She reaches up on the tips of her toes, hand dropping Charity’s wrist to circle behind her neck tenderly and presses her lips to hers.

Vanessa feels Charity melt against her front after a beat of her heart, her hands coming to wrap around Vanessa’s waist and tugs her closer. “You’re welcome,” she mumbles against Vanessa’s lips, refusing to break the contact even to speak.

But to Vanessa’s annoyance, and to Charity’s as well, if the way she lets out an irritated puff of breath through her nose, someone clears their throat loudly. Vanessa exasperatedly pulls away but doesn’t drop her hand from Charity’s neck and turns to face the source of their interruption.

Or sources, as it turns out.

Billy, Aaron, Cain and Tracy stand a couple of feet away, a mixture of amused, annoyed and indifferent expressions plastered across their faces. “Sorry to interrupt,” Tracy says pointedly, “but there’s a load of people waiting to say goodbye, so if you two could, like, put each other down for a second-”

“That would be great.” Billy cuts in smugly, but he doesn’t seem as impatient as the others, grinning affectionately between Charity and Vanessa, the same way she catches Noah looking when he thinks she doesn’t notice him.

Clearing her throat, Vanessa untangles herself from Charity but doesn’t step away. “Right, then,” she says, tying her belt around her waist and feeling the weight of her sword on her hip settle like an extra limb, “let’s get the hard bit out of the way and we’ll be off?” Vanessa shoves the knife with a little more force than is probably necessary into the slim space between her belt and her hip and claps her hands.

Billy, Aaron and Cain nod before dispersing amongst the bustling crowd that’s swarmed the beach and Tracy comes bounding over, wrapping Charity and Vanessa in arms that threaten to choke them as she pulls them hard into her front. “Now, don’t you two be worrying about those boys, yeah?” Tracy mutters, voice straining against her own grip, “Chas, Debbie and me will be looking after them, you just go ‘ave fun while you’re still young.” She says, then adds a sarcastic, “ish.”

Charity swats at Tracy’s arm playfully once they’re released from her death grip, but her smile is warm and affectionate. These past two years have brought them closer, Vanessa too, and a sudden sadness fills her chest, a ball forming in her throat, now that she has to say good bye.

“Oi,” Tracy points a warning finger between Vanessa’s eyes, “don’t you start blubbering ‘cause you know I’ll star-” but it’s too late because then Tracy is throwing herself into Vanessa’s arms again, sobbing loudly into the crook of her neck and Vanessa feels an accompanying sting in her eyes, blinking in vein to rid them of tears. She squeezes Tracy back just as hard until she has to let go.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” She says, voice wobbling precariously.

“In one piece, please.” Tracy wipes at her face, “I don’t want to see a hook on that hand, yeah?”

Vanessa scoffs but nods anyway, silently promising just that, even if it’s one she can’t reasonably keep. After all, nothing is for certain when they’re out at sea, no one can say for sure how this trip will end, and while that’s something Vanessa now realises is something they should have maybe discussed more in depth, she doesn’t find herself worrying about it too much.

The Queen Anne is waiting for them at the end of the dock, bobbing peacefully on the calm water, beckoning her to dive head first onto the helm.

Charity and Vanessa find the kids playing in the sand by Chas and Debbie, Sarah and Jack hovering close by. Vanessa feels that sadness spike again in her chest, and when she drops to her knees to pull both boys into her chest, she can’t quite fight the tears this time, but she does manage to hide them in Johnny’s shoulder when she squeezes him good bye.

“You two gonna be good for everyone?” Charity asks, sensing that Vanessa can’t catch her breath around silent sobs to say it herself.

Johnny and Moses nod quickly, grinning up at them with wide toothy smiles. “You gonna fetch us presents back?” Moses quips back like that’s his price for such a request, bouncing on his toes excitedly and Johnny joins in a second after, clapping his hands.

“Of course, we will.” Vanessa manages to croak out, grabbing Charity’s hand in a vice like grip in her own. At that, both Moses and Johnny are off racing down the beach with Sarah and Jack hot on their heels and Vanessa can’t find it in herself to feel sad that that’s all the good bye they get, happy to see them acting as though it isn’t one.

Chas holds Vanessa gentler than Tracy did and places a quick peck to the top of her head, whispering soft words of encouragement. Vanessa steps away when its Charity’s turn with Chas and Debbie, giving them a bit more space and finds Paddy hovering close by, eyes wet and red and blubbering harder than Tracy and Vanessa put together.

Vanessa pretends not to notice when three sets of eyes turn briefly to her, ducking her head and pats Paddy reassuringly on his shoulder. She’s used to it, the concerned glances, pushing the irritation down and away from the forefront of her mind.

“You okay?” She leaves her hand resting on Paddy’s shoulder as a sign of support.

Paddy nods. “You?”

“Mhm,” She mimics the sharp movement of his head before turning to face him. “Feel like we never left the ship.” Vanessa manages stiffly, but she thinks they need it, this feigned confidence as they leave their families behind again.

Paddy giggles out a high-pitched sound that mixes with another sob. “Just hope we’re not too out of touch.”

“Nah,” It’s Charity who speaks, clapping him roughly on the back, “you don’t forget something like this.” Her cocky conviction is all Vanessa needs to feel that engulfing rush of excitement filling her from the inside out, heat spreading across the surface of her skin, and a wide, brilliant smile tugging painfully in the best way possible at the muscles in her cheeks. “Ready?”

Both Vanessa and Paddy nod in unison, and taking Charity’s hand in her own, sparing one last glance over her shoulder at the remaining villagers on the beach, she leads the crew of the Queen Anne up the stone steps at the opening of the dock.

There’s a buzz of adrenalin that erupts low in her gut, the hairs on her arms standing on end as a result, when the echoing thud of boots against the wood sounds through the air, the crew stepping in unity towards the planks up to their ship.

Vanessa only comes to an abrupt stop at the top, standing on the rich wood railings of the Queen Anne. She turns to Charity slowly, grin still pushing her cheekbones high up her face, “we’re back,” she says in a sing song voice that has Charity chuckling in response.

“Yeah, we are.” Charity gives her a wink, lifting her hand to support Vanessa, the Captain of the Queen Anne, when she jumps gracefully down onto the deck.


	3. New Sails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another one... I'll be updating every other day as long as work doesn't get in the way of that this weekend, so enjoy!

Vanessa stands up at the helm, Charity and Cain flanking either side with her, chin held high as she watches her crew follow her orders.

It’s a strange feeling, this sense of steadfast authority, but just as she had done last time, she thinks back to Charity in this position. Voice firm and unwavering, eyes void of expression, and she tries her hardest to do the same. It must work, because there’s no sense of hesitation when Billy and Aaron climb the rigging to drop the sails, Jimmy, Pete and David hoist the anchor and the rest of the crew race to tighten and pull ropes that Vanessa is almost embarrassed to admit that she has no clue what they’re for or what purpose they have.

The only time she does waver, however, is when she catches Charity watching her with almost black eyes from her left side, and feels a deep, burning blush climb her neck and fill her cheeks when she ducks her head shyly.

“Captain,” Charity waves her hand with a flourish towards the rudder, bowing her head low and gazes up through those thick eyelashes with a teasing smile, “care to sails us into open waters?”

Cain scoffs at the show and swiftly disappears down the stairs to go busy himself with something Vanessa probably hasn’t thought to address yet, but she doesn’t take much notice, stepping up to the wheel and reaches out to test the feel of smooth wood against the palms of her hands.

“You might have to help me with this bit,” Vanessa stage whispers, smirking at Charity, “I don’t want to run aground before we’ve even passed the fog.”

As she had done two years ago when she’d mocked Vanessa for teasing her, Charity sidles up behind her, bringing their bodies flush together, and places her hands gently over the top of Vanessa’s own. “We can’t ‘ave that now, can we?” Charity murmurs hotly into Vanessa’s ear.

Even after all this time, it still amazes Vanessa, the affect that Charity has on her, feeling a betraying rush of heat pool between her legs, goose bumps erupting across every inch of skin on Vanessa’s body. She’s grateful for the steady hold that Charity has on her and the grip that she holds on the wheel because if not for those two simple things, Vanessa’s sure her legs would have given way, too.

Neither speak until they pass the cliffs that boarder the cove, a simple turn of the wheel doesn’t need much explaining, even for Vanessa, and she sails them smoothly away from the docks of their home. It’s not until they leave the familiar route of following the cliff face around the island that Charity speaks up. “You can probably just let Noah lead us out,” she says, keeping her grip strong and firm on top of Vanessa’s hands, “but just in case,” she shuffles closer, almost as though Vanessa isn’t stood between Charity and the rudder, “you want to stick to the left.”

“Like this?” Vanessa hardly shifts the rudder but Charity nods.

She thinks she catches Charity counting out a silent beat, fingers tapping on top of Vanessa’s knuckles to a steady rhythm, slower than her heart beat. When she reaches the eighth or ninth beat, Charity glances to the right, just as they pass a smooth clump of rocks, then turns back to face the bow.

It’s a sudden rush of wind that alerts Vanessa to the fact that they’re heading straight into the wall of fog, rapidly approaching faster than it had been a moment ago, as though it’s hurtling towards them at a matched speed.

She still doesn’t understand it, her brain too set on being realistic and plausible to even attempt to understand this phenomenon. But after her time spent on the island with its villagers, she’s come to realise that they themselves don’t question such a thing, either, content with its existence and the protection that it provides.

No one in their right minds would sail into this.

The tapping starts up again when the first fin of a hammer-head shark crests above the rippling waves. Ten beats pass, “you ready?” Vanessa nods, and on the thirteenth beat Charity instructs, “hard right, spin the wheel as far as it’ll let you.”

Vanessa does as she’s told, and the Queen Anne tips precariously to the side. She’s ready, muscle memory kicking in just in time, but she spots a few of the new crew members stumble and slip across the deck. Robert only just manages to catch himself on a gantline before he falls into the choppy waves below. “What’s this?” Vanessa asks, jutting her chin to where Charity’s hand rests atop her own.

“You can’t map this,” Charity explains enigmatically, “magic, remember?”

It’s not.

The rational part of Vanessa’s brain wants to explain it all away with logic, but she shoves the reasoning away in favour of enjoying the mystery behind the first place she’s been able to call home and feel it in every bone of her body.

Vanessa’s missed this, this sense of adventure that can’t be found in a small island village. “Magic, of course, how silly of me.”

Charity chuckles, a low sound in the depths of her chest, and Vanessa feels it vibrate against her back. “The counting helps,” Charity continues on, “I haven’t needed it much in the past,” shrugging, she presses firmer with her index finger into the space between Vanessa’s second and third knuckles, “but first day back on the old job, I want to be safe.”

Vanessa nods and begins to focus more on the beats, “there a method to it?”

“I’ll explain when we’re out,” Charity says, “half right.”

Vanessa spins the wheel a half turn and smiles when she feels Charity nod her approval. “You’re a natural.”

“Got a good teacher.” Charity practically glows at Vanessa’s compliment, dropping her hands and smiles when Vanessa holds the rudder steady in place.

“That so?” Charity cocks her hip against the side of the rudder and smirks, “right the wheel and hold it, then you’re good to tie her steady.”

When Vanessa does as she’s told, the Queen Anne levels out and she makes quick work of tying a knot she’s certain will hold the wheel in place; a bright sense of pride filling her chest when she remembers how to do so without having to correct herself. “That enough evidence for you?”

Charity’s smirk only widens with her growing smugness. “I’d say so.” Her voice comes low and gravelly, pulling a pleasantly amused laugh from Vanessa.

It’s then that the Queen Anne emerges from the wall of fog and a cool air washes over them, replacing the stifling thickness of the mist, carried in on the wind, the rigging and beams of the masts creak beneath the force. Vanessa feels that stuck smile growing at the sensation of the ship rocking steadily beneath them and that clear taste of salt in the air that’s only ever this clean and pure out at sea.

Charity must be settling into the realisation, too, because she slowly turns her back to Vanessa and opens her arms wide against the wind, spreading her fingers to filter the air against her skin. Vanessa quietly makes her way over to stand behind Charity, instinctively wrapping her arms around her waist and leans up on her toes so that she can drop her chin to Charity’s shoulder.

Charity lets out a content sigh, eyes fluttering closed in the same moment she laces her fingers between Vanessa’s. “Thank you.” Charity whispers, and Vanessa tilts her head to the side in confusion as best she can at the awkward angle, “for being the stubborn one for once.”

“I’m never stubborn.” Vanessa gasps in mock offense, squeezing at Charity’s stomach playfully.

Nodding, Charity opens her eyes, “not a lie,” she admits with another smirk, “but if you hadn’t gone worrying to Chas an’ Tracy about me, then I don’t think we’d be here.”

Vanessa’s confusion sets her brow into a slight frown. “Why’d you say tha’?” she asks, “Noah still would have come to us either way.”

Charity gives a gentle shrug, careful not to jostle Vanessa from her position, “maybe, but I think I’d ‘ave said no.”

“Why’s that?’ Vanessa asks, keeping her voice soft against Charity ear.

“For the same reasons as you,” Charity explains, turning in Vanessa’s arms to link her own hands at the small of Vanessa’s back, “the boys, scared I wouldn’t want to go home,” Charity gives a dismissive shrug, eyes glued to a point somewhere behind Vanessa., “hell, I didn’t even know if you missed it either.”

“We spent our first nine months out here together, Charity,” Vanessa reaches up to gently guide Charity’s eyes down to hers, fingers pressed to the side of Charity’s chin, “don’t judge me for getting sentimental.” She adds playfully, pressing a careful kiss to the underside of Charity’s jaw.

Charity leans into the contact and Vanessa finds herself entranced by the way her eyelids flutter. “I won’t, if you don’t judge me for sayin’ I was worried you’d never want to do it again?”

“Because of what happened?” Vanessa doesn’t need to ask, doesn’t even need to register Charity’s nod, to know she’s referring to the near-death experience in the harbour of Port Royal.

“Just with the nightmares and-”

Vanessa’s shaking her head and gritting her teeth purposefully to cut Charity off before she can finish whatever observation she has ready on the tip of her tongue. Vanessa breathes out a careful sigh, tampering down her frustration before it can turn into misdirected anger. “What’s that stuff that Harriet’s always spouting off?” She asks rhetorically, finally flashing her eyes back up to meet Charity’s, “about facing your fears, an’ that?” Charity smiles, and it’s not sympathetic the way Vanessa almost expects it to be, but more understanding. That unsettles her more than it should, that Charity might actually know what’s going on inside of her head, so she takes a hesitant step backwards, running a hand through her hair quickly. “Anyroad,” Vanessa mutters, eyes turning towards the black sails that ripple hypnotically, pulling them out into wide open waters, “haven’t had one of those nightmares in a while.”

-

The weather takes a quick turn for the worst after that. The clear skies that had been following them from home, break into thick black clouds, thunderous and heavy as they sail towards the storm that had been brewing on the horizon for the past week. There’s no way around it, the lightening illuminating the length of the horizon, completely circling the Queen Anne and the Merciless.

Both ships widen the distance between themselves, the violent, rolling waves, tossing them dangerously close to capsizing, the last thing they need is to collide and sink both.

Charity and Cain take over at the helm then, the rudder spinning out of Vanessa’s control on her own, and it takes both of her First Mates to regain control of its formidable spiralling.

Vanessa doesn’t stand around waiting for something to happen, she’s barrelling off down the steps onto the lower deck, barking out orders to the crew – the same way she’d seen Charity do – and dives in behind Billy as he struggles to tie down a cannon.

“One, two…” She grabs the end of the rope he’s holding onto, “_three_.” They heave the line, tying the knot and securing the gun in place.

“Exciting first day back!” Billy screams above the roar of the storm, beaming wide.

Vanessa rolls her eyes but can’t fight her own smile, she beckons Billy to follow, jutting her chin towards the hatch that leads below deck. It’s Chaos, David and Pete stumbling and falling about aimlessly, and the sight has Vanessa groaning internally. _It could be worse_; she repeats Charity’s own words to herself. “Get this water gone.” She orders, waving a hand between David and Pete then down to the rising sea water around her ankles. At the perplexed exchange between the two men, Vanessa grabs a nearby bucket and tosses it to David’s chest. “Come on!”

Vanessa lunges for her own bucket and dives into action a moment later. Bob, Sam, Liam and Rodney all follow suit, and the new members of the crew form a line up the steps leading out onto the deck above, passing leaking buckets of water between them. It doesn’t make much of a difference, however, the rain hammering down in heavy painful drops, and that, mixed with the high waves, a cascade of water streams through the portholes and the cracks in the deck above them.

She’s readying herself to leave them to it with a warning not to mess up, when David hauls a bucket too close to her head, knocking the rough edge of its base into her temple, just above her eyebrow, and she feels the resulting dull sting of skin breaking and a warm trail of blood slide down her cheek. She grits her teeth around her anger and tries not to let her eyes roll backwards when the room spins for the briefest of moments, turning a blind eye to the pain and reaches up with the soaking sleeve of her shirt to wipe the hot stream away. She glares down at the crimson stain like an insult.

It’s not a lot, but the water already drenching her clothes allows it to seep quickly into the material, and Vanessa suddenly finds herself having to fight away memories of the blood that had stained low on her shirt with a terrifying measure.

Vanessa ignores his frantic apologies, leaning down to pick up the discarded bucket with a stiff, but forgiving grimace of a smile, “come on,” she nods to David, “you can help up here before you knock someone out,” before wading her way through the water and back up the steps until she finds Paddy and Marlon attempting to straighten out the rigging at the bow of the ship.

“Captain.” Marlon says in greeting.

Vanessa almost turns to look over her shoulder, expecting to find Charity standing behind her before she realises Marlon’s talking to her. “S’pose that’s something we’re all going to ‘ave to get used to, eh?” She says, reaching out to secure one of the knots around the railings.

“Bang your head?” Paddy makes to touch the cut she can feel burning, but Vanessa slaps his hand away before he can reach it.

“Slipped.” She lies, eyes flickering over to David, “need a hand?”

Marlon and Paddy eye David wearily, before shrugging in unison. “How’re you with heights?” With that, the four of them turn their eyes to the black sails, struggling to hold against the raging winds high above the sea level.

“Charity wants the mainsail up.” Marlon cuts in, voice having to rise when the roar of the wind grows deafening.

David turns to Vanessa for instruction, waiting for her to agree, and for a moment, all she can do is stare at him dumbly. But he’s new to this, probably never been aboard a ship since arriving on the island god knows how long ago now, and she’s new to this captain thing as well. So, she gives him a curt nod, and hands him a rope to tie around his waist.

“Robert’s already up there with Aaron.” Paddy says, wiping at the lenses of his glasses futilely. 

“We just need three of the sails wrapped,” Vanessa adds, “watch your footing and for the love of g-” she sighs, feeling the cut on her eyebrow continue to weep, “don’t fall.” David nods hurriedly and sets off up the side of the ship looking paler and more unsteady on his feet than he has done since the morning before.

Vanessa gestures for Paddy and Marlon to follow her across the deck, towards the door that leads over to her quarters and then comes to a stop in the sheltered alcove that the helm provides above it. “What’s he doin’ on this ship?” She asks after a clap of thunder and the lightening lights the ship in an ominous blue glow.

Marlon glances up at David and frowns slightly when one of his feet gets tangled in the rigging, “said summat about wanting to have somethin’ in common with his Jacob?” He supplies uncertainly.

Rolling her eyes, Vanessa shakes her head, “better reason as any.” She mutters loudly. “We got anything I can use to clean this up with?” Vanessa waves a hand towards her head and Paddy gives a stuttering nod.

“Ye-yeah, I’ll go get my bag.”

“Thanks.” She says before pushing the door behind her, letting out a content sigh when a dry warmth hits her.

To her surprise, making her way down the short spiral steps into the Captains quarters, her quarters, the lanterns that are hanging from the beams are still lit, the flames flickering precariously, and bar the globe and a handful of books that hadn’t been properly put away, nothing else seems to have fallen over.

Still, as the lightening continues to flash outside, and despite the early hour of the afternoon, the room has an altogether dissimilar feel than the quarters Charity and she had shared on the Merciless. Vanessa had felt it the morning prior, after they’d first boarded, this sense of space and brightness in the room.

Unlike the room she’d occupied the first time on the Queen Anne, all deep auburn and red furniture, this room is brighter, with its unstained windows that lap from one side of the room to the other, a navy blue map fills the left wall and a full, almost overflowing, bookcase on the opposite. Despite the lack of colour in the window that had reflected light around the room on the Merciless, somehow it feels as though there’s more contrast in here, more that draws her senses into overdrive. The expensively rich looking dining table fills up a good half of the space, a dark wood desk sits in the far corner of the room, its back to the map on the wall, and an out of place fourposter bed, while extremely comfortable – that, Vanessa had discovered the night before – is positioned just to the left of the window.

There’re sections of the room that reminds her of her dad’s office, the desk with the fallen globe, and instruments scattered across its surface that Vanessa has no idea as to their purpose, but there’s corners; the map and bed, that reminds her of her home with Charity and the boys. Plants scatter the top of the book case, hanging ivy and others that look tropical cascade down like a curtain of greenery that reminds Vanessa of the view from their living room window.

Vanessa takes a moment to take in the room, before moving over to the desk quickly to right the globe, backing away towards the books that have fallen off the table to pick them up too. They’re not from the shelf in here, but from Vanessa’s bedside table at home. She’s admiring the gold lettering on the front cover of one the books when a timid knock comes from the door at the top of the cast iron stair case.

There’s muffled, indistinguishable voice from outside, but the roar of the wind and sea buffer the majority of the sound of the deck. “Come in.” She calls, stacking the books carefully into the centre of the table. The ship isn’t rocking as precariously as it has been, so they stay neat where she sets them down.

“Shift it, would you?” Charity snaps when the door opens, letting in an icy gust of air behind Paddy and herself. “I told you just t’open it.”

“All due respect, Cap- Charity, but our Ness-”

“Oh, shut up you stu-”

Their bickering comes to an abrupt halt when they reach the bottom of the stairs, Charity’s eyes zeroing in on Vanessa’s features. “It’s not that bad.” Vanessa sighs, plopping down into one of the chairs beside the table and waves her hand towards her eyebrow, “just a bump.”

“Lot of blood for a ‘_bump’_, love.” Charity utters, snatching up a small mirror from the desk and walks over to Vanessa’s side to hold it up to her face. She crouches down in front of Vanessa and frowns.

There is a lot, it seems, but she guesses it only looks as bad as it is because she’s drenched from head to toe in seawater, the blood oozing easily across her skin and down to the collar of her shirt. 

“What happened?” Charity asks, snatching Paddy’s medical bag from his hand.

“It was an accident.”

“Bumped her head.”

Vanessa and Paddy speak at the same time, the drone of voice’s drawing Charity’s brows into a knitted frown. “Bumped your head on what?” She asks, pulling out a clean rag and a flask of water. Charity starts wiping away the blood before Vanessa can speak, her hands gentle as she cleans her face.

“A bucket.” Vanessa mutters, dropping her eyes down to the table when she begins to drum out an impatient beat against the surface.

“A bucket?” Charity asks monotonously.

“It was an accident.” Vanessa repeats, feeling an amused smile begin to pull at her lips, “they were bailing out the lower decks, I got in the way and David clipped me.” Vanessa shrugs, shooting Charity a pointed look, “_accident_, like I said.”

Charity purses her lips, not bothering to hide her annoyance at the obvious incompetence of certain members of the crew, but she doesn’t push, letting her eyes drift down briefly to meet Vanessa’s. There’s amusement dancing around in the green of her irises and Vanessa feels her chest blossom with warmth at the sight.

“Everythin’ all right up there?” Vanessa bobs her head towards the ceiling, dropping her hand to Charity’s forearm.

“Think we’ve come through the worst of it.” Nodding, Charity drops the rag to Paddy’s waiting hand and stands. “What you think, Padster?”

Paddy leans in close to inspect Vanessa’s injury and smiles reassuringly, clapping her on the shoulder with a little bit more force than he probably realises. “Keep it clean, you’ll be fine.”

Vanessa grunts under the contact and stands, “could’a told you tha’ myself.” She’s suddenly aware of how uncomfortably her clothes are clinging to her body, beginning to dry against her skin in that itchy annoying way. “You mind giving me a second to change?” Vanessa asks, heading towards the chest at the foot of the bed.

Paddy remains still, smiling at Charity obliviously like he’s waiting for her to leave, too. “Paddy.” Charity snaps, “get out.”

“O-oh, _oh_,” realisation falls across his face, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cheeks turning pink, “ye- y- yes, of course, was just- silly me.” He scrambles up the stairs without another word and disappears out into the storm.

“Typical, init.” Charity mutters, pulling her waterlogged boots from her feet, emptying them out onto the floor carelessly.

Vanessa untucks her shirt and yanks it up over her head, shooting Charity a questioning glance over her shoulder when she leans over the trunk to rummage through their clothes. “What is?”

She’s too busy trying to untangle one of the sleeves on a dry shirt that Vanessa doesn’t hear Charity sneaking up behind her until a firm grip catches Vanessa’s hips. “The weather,” Charity says softly against Vanessa’s neck when she bolts up right with a high-pitched yelp, “first proper day back at it and we sail right into a storm.”

“Bad omen, that.” Vanessa chuckles once she’s calmed herself, suddenly not caring about changing into dry clothes when Charity begins to trail her fingertips across Vanessa’s bare stomach, dipping her fingers lower to circle the puckered scar.

“Don’t say that.” Charity warns playfully into Vanessa’s skin, her breath coming out through a hot breath. “Where’s all your sickeningly sweet optimism gone?”

Vanessa scoffs, turning in Charity’s embrace to wrap her own arms around her shoulders, pressing her bare chest into Charity’s, which is still, infuriatingly, clothed. “It’s in here somewhere.” She taps her temple, just above the fresh cut. If Vanessa’s being completely honest with herself, though, she’s not sure if it is.

Unaware of it ever happening and unable to pinpoint a specific moment, she can’t help but notice the difference she feels even within herself. She’s harder, rough around the edges, and lacking that warm fuzziness that she’d used plenty of times in the past to distinguish herself amongst others. She’s not oblivious, Vanessa knows why the change has happened, the spark of ignition being Bails.

Charity lets out a thoughtful hum, ducking her head to capture Vanessa’s lips against her own. “Good,” she says, but Vanessa can see a ghosting flicker of doubt in her eyes, it’s barely noticeable and doesn’t last more than a second or so, but Vanessa catches it, and feels her heart ache in response. She wants to promise Charity that she’s okay, that everything’s going to be fine and that she doesn’t have to worry about her, but she’s already lied enough to Charity these past couple of days, each one just as hard as the last to get out.

So, instead of lying, Vanessa leans up on her toes and kisses Charity, putting as much of herself into it as she can, apologies and honesty mixed in together. Despite her lack of words, Charity seems to understand, or at least, she softens to the idea of silence, melting around Vanessa the way she always does. That cold feeling running across the surface of her skin – that has nothing to do with her wet clothes – subsides for the time being, and Vanessa always herself this one moment to ignore that feeling of detachment and surrenders to that familiar thudding of her heart that hammers against her chest whenever Charity so much as walks into a room.

They tumble to the bed a little while later, half dressed in soaking clothes that are eventually discarded to the floor without so much as a second thought, and the wild tempest outside the unstained window’s fades to background noise.

-

Vanessa doesn’t want to lose that feeling, let it slip through her fingers like grains of sand, or have it drowned out because her imagination likes to play tricks on her sometimes. She does a good job of trying, one that gives her a sense of pride in herself when the first flicker of memories invades her dreams but are swiftly quelled before they can manifest into anything more.

She stops the small white lies, even if it is only because there’s nothing to lie about when her surroundings grow brighter, less invasive in their reminders, but it washes away the guilt that’s been marring her from the inside out and doesn’t snap when Charity asks her if she’s okay during the brief moments she does zone out.

Sure, it’s only been a week, but it’s the small victories that has Vanessa relaxing on the ship more.

The week is all it takes for the storm to subside along with her frustrations, and the Merciless catches up to fall in time with the Queen Anne. When the sun resurfaces, it’s with a cooler and renewed chill in the air, but the seagulls fly overhead without a care in world.

They’re getting closer to the HMS Swallow with each day that passes, and the excitement that surrounds both ships is palpable, infectious. And the day after the storm breaks, Noah, Jacob and Ellis row over to the Queen Anne and Vanessa finds herself seated at the head of the dining table in her quarters, maps, diagrams, and other pieces of paper littered across its surface, lit up by the cold sun beaming in through the windows.

It all seems very formal, with Noah sat opposite her, even if they are only finalising the small details of the ambush. Charity drops in teasing comments here and there, however, warning Noah not to get her ship blown up, and it works in lightening the mood. Until Ellis points out that the Merciless is a doctor down.

“What do you suggest?” Cain grunts, poking the edge of a knife into the arm of his chair. “You want ours?”

Noah shrugs, “that’s an option,” he says in that ever-growing deep voice of his.

“An’ leave us without one?” Charity blurts out an incredulous laugh, “I don’t think so kid, not when we’re the ones going in first. Anyway, you seen our crew? ‘Alf of them are bloody useless, we’re going to be the ones with all the casualties.”

But Vanessa frowns, thinking, “we wouldn’t be without one.” She pipes up after a moment of stiff silence. All eyes turn to her, Charity and Cain with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, while Noah stares, knowingly. “Come on,” she says, slumping back into her chair and spreading her arms wide, “I’m better than nothing, an’ we could use Liam.”

“You’re the captain.” Charity says firmly, emphatically, as though it should be obvious that to even suggest being anything but, is out of the question.

“An’ I can still do that while making sure no one bleeds out in the middle of a fight.” Vanessa points out firmly. “Anyway,” she gives a dismissive shrug, “we all know that you’re better at leading these things than me.”

“You’ve done it before, though?” Jacob speaks up from Noah’s left side. “Lead an attack, I mean?”

“Wouldn’t call it that,” Vanessa laughs dryly, eyes hardening in an automatic response, “a rescue mission maybe, but even that didn’t quite go to plan.” Jacob glances to his side quickly, unsure, like he’s wondering why exactly she’s captain in the first place, but Vanessa ignores him, brushing it off easily when she feels Charity’s hand flatten reassuringly against her thigh. “Look, let them ‘ave Paddy for this, Charity can lead, what difference will it make.” There’s silence, and she straightens in her chair sharply, steeling her features in the same way that Charity does. “Okay?”

Charity purses her lips for a brief second, as though she’s trying to hold something back, but when her eyes flicker up to meet Vanessa’s, she forces a tight-lipped smile, banging her hand down on the table and making Ellis jump in his chair beside her. “Sorted then,” she stands, “I’ll go tell Paddy an’ Liam the good news.”

Before Vanessa can even utter out a hurried ‘goodbye’ to Noah and his men, Charity’s clutching her hand and dragging Vanessa up the stairs and out onto the deck. But instead of being led towards Paddy and Marlon who’ve graciously offered to man the helm, Charity slows her pace and guides Vanessa slowly over to a stack of barrels and rope beneath one of the masts and slumps down into the tangled mess of lines. Vanessa claims the barrel beside her and leans back against the mast.

“So,” Charity starts, purposefully drawing her gaze to the beads hanging from Vanessa’s belt instead of her eyes while she speaks, “you not wanting to lead this attack doesn’t ‘ave anything to do with that conversation we had the other day, does it?” Charity keeps her tone light and indifferent, but Vanessa knows her better than this, as does Charity know Vanessa.

Vanessa feels her lips tugging into a gentle smile despite herself and drops her hand to Charity’s, stilling the fidgeting fingers that are rattling the colourful orbs that dangle low from her belt. “And if it does?” Because it does, a little bit, there’s a rush of excitement that feeds her anticipation, more prominent than before, that comes with the prospect of acting as the ship doctor, even if it is a temporary position. But it’s one that comes with a different type of responsibility. Vanessa’s never been one for taking charge, funnelling that anger and determination into something other than caring for the people around her, and maybe there’s a fine line between captaining a crew and trying to keep someone’s limb attached to their body, but at least this way, Vanessa knows for certain she’s capable.

Charity shrugs stiffly, like she’s trying to fight down the urge to say what she really wants to, but then her eyes flit up to find Vanessa and her face slackens into a barely noticeable frown. “Just want to make sure it’s not because you’re worrying, Ness, tha’s all.”

“I’m not worrying,” Vanessa says, squeezing Charity’s hand until the frown on her features turns to an assured half-smile. “It’s the right decision to make,” Charity makes to interject but Vanessa shakes her head, swivelling round to face her, “it’s not like I’m not going to stick to it, being captain, I mean.” Vanessa says, and pulls their joined hands into her lap, “I’m just trying to make the right decision.”

Charity shifts awkwardly, feet tangling in the rope, until she’s kneeling between Vanessa’s legs, “you can do this, y’know?”

Vanessa drops Charity’s hands in favour of reaching up to cup her cheeks and gives a short shrug of agreement, “but you can do it better, just like I’m better at being a doctor.”

It’s a long moment before Charity speaks up, seeming almost content enough with staring into Vanessa’s eyes like the rest of the ship has fallen away into nothing. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Vanessa leans in and places a chaste kiss to Charity’s lips. “At least this way, we know nothing can go wrong.” She teases, needing to lighten the mood.

Charity grins around an eye roll, climbing to her feet with a grunt, “what was it you were sayin’ about not ‘speakin’ too soon’.” She reattaches her hand to Vanessa’s and tugs her up off the barrel when Vanessa smirks in response. “Best go tell Padster, then.”

-

The wind picks up two days later and with it, the air grows cold and a thick layer of black cloud begins to swirl and spiral above them, another storm threatening and imminent with each second that passes by. But the surface of the sea seems to remain settled and calm, unlike the two crews of the Queen Anne and the Merciless, who veer precariously on the edge of a nervousness that Vanessa has only really witnessed once before, on this very ship when it was crewed by only seven of those who do so now.

It’s an eerie sort of tension, and it carries between the two ships even when the Merciless breaks off two days later when it’s time for the plan to fall into place.

Fine droplets of rain beginning to fall in a thick haze that has both ships disappearing into a grey mist. It’s nothing like the wall of fog that surrounds home, welcoming and warm atop the wreckages of ships that failed the passage, this is cold and portentous, waiting for them to fall victim to yet another battle.

And that’s what this is, Vanessa thinks, a waiting game.

“Fold the main sail,” she calls from up at the helm, her breath leaving her lips through a white cloud and the ship loses its previous pace, “drop the anchor.” The crew do as they’re told, rushing about the deck at Vanessa’s command.

But Charity fidgets uneasily beside her, fingers playing with the hilt of her sword as she watches on. “This isn’t going to work if we don’t lose some of this daylight.” She mutters more to herself than to Vanessa when her eyes pan up towards the sky, the setting sun trying to force its way through the thick clouds low on the horizon, casting strangled bursts of orange light out across the sea.

The anchor hits the sea bed with a rugged groan as it tears up rocks and sand, jolting the Queen Anne to a shuddering holt. The force sends Robert hurtling across the slippery deck and he topples unceremoniously into Aaron, the pair collapsing into a heap beneath one of the masts. Charity grunts out her displeasure at the sight, and Vanessa catches the subtle shake of her head. “Give it time,” Vanessa utters under her breath, reaching blindly to her side to find Charity’s hand waiting for hers. Vanessa isn’t sure how she manages to make her voice sound so convincing and certain; she certainly doesn’t feel it.

And yet, Charity must sense it, because she doesn’t look convinced when she turns to face Vanessa. “I’ll have that boy if he’s wrong ‘bout this.”

But despite her uncertainty, Vanessa’s gut whispers pulses of reassurances up to her brain, willing her to keep her head. It’s mostly down to the hope beating in her chest that she chooses to listen to it, offering up a smile for Charity. “No, you won’t.”

Flicking soaked hair from her face, Charity reaches up to readjust her hat and purses her lips, “no I won’t, but I won’t be happy.” She mutters, eyeing Vanessa from the corner of her eye. “Be a bit of a wasted trip otherwise, won’t it?”

The Queen Anne sits almost motionless in dead sea, barely a ripple of a wave beneath where they stand up at the helm, and with the main sail hoisted, still waiting to be wrapped, black material remains silent and unmoving against the growing wind. “Nah,” Vanessa gives a sure shake of her head, “it’s been worth every second.”

Charity’s face is lit up beneath the warm yellow glow of the lamp that hangs from the rear mast, swaying and casting dark shadows across her features when the corners of her mouth lift effortlessly into a wide smile.

Just as Charity’s about to slip in a no doubt teasing remark, a low-pitched whistle sounds from the crow’s nest and a stiff silence falls between them, rippling across the deck below. Vanessa grabs the telescope from the ledge behind the rudder and pulls it to her right eye quickly, squinting through the darkness that has swiftly descended upon the Queen Anne. “Cut the lights.” She orders abruptly, spotting a flicker of orange glow through the rain and fog a moment later. “It’s her.” She says to Charity, “south-west.”

Charity takes the telescope and follows Vanessa’s line of sight, giving her a nod of agreement. Jimmy and Cain blow out the flames within the lanterns along the top deck, David and Billy disappearing down below to do the same and Vanessa turns to extinguish the last remaining flicker of light between Charity and her, and the ship falls into complete darkness.

“Full cover!” The way Vanessa’s voice carries across the ship startles her for only a moment, the sound bellowing effortlessly, and the black sails drop, pitch dark against the navy sky. “Lift the anchor and ready on the guns.”

“Guns ready!” Cain screams back barely a second later, and Vanessa finds herself nodding approvingly.

When the ship gives a sudden lurch forward, the black sails catching the wind, Vanessa pivots on her heel and steps into Charity, chest pressed against chest. “I’ll find you in a bit, yeah?” Vanessa tangles her hands in the front of Charity’s shirt and tugs her down to press her lips against hers.

Smiling, Charity doesn’t pull away, but winds one arm around Vanessa’s waist to hold her closer. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

Vanessa lets out a breathy laugh through her nose and lets her eyes flicker open, finding dark green gazing back at her. “Do I bother saying the same to you?”

Charity shrugs, holding up a defensive hand with the palm coated in black. “No one could ever kill The Widow.” She says cockily and smirks, watching Vanessa’s eyes flicker over to the soot coated lantern to find a streaking hand print across the inside of the glass.

Vanessa feels an inappropriate rush of heat settle between her legs at Charity’s tone around the name, and that heat that pools like lava when she streaks black across her eyes like a mask. It’s a ghostly look that only seems to make the tropical green of her irises grow bright, like they’re the only source of light left. Vanessa feels her mouth hanging open slightly at the sight, pulling in long, desperate breaths that do nothing to steady the echoing thud of her heart between her legs. But when Charity reaches up with that same black hand, everything seems to still for a moment, breath caught painfully in her throat, and she wipes her palm down across one of Vanessa’s eyes and then down the other.

She can feel the dirt on her skin, the parallel black vertical lines that’s left down her face when Charity removes her hand, grinning wide, satisfied. “Looks good on you, _Captain_.”

Vanessa tugs her lip between her teeth, tasting the soot on her tongue. “Try not to get yourself killed.”


	4. HMS Swallow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter got away from me a little bit... it's quite long so apologies if that's not your thing. But this is where shit starts hitting the fan so I'm not that sorry.

Vanessa tugs her lip between her teeth, tasting the soot on her tongue as strong as the static of adrenalin in the air. “Try not to get yourself killed.” It’s a sort of backwards goodbye that really isn’t a goodbye and not quite a good luck but a good luck all the same.

But Vanessa doesn’t wait for a response because both Charity and she knows what happens now. Their shoulders square in unison, in spite of their thundering hearts, and their swords are pulled from their holsters with the high-pitched ring of metal that has the hairs on the back of Vanessa’s neck standing to attention.

The Queen Anne was one of the fastest ships that had belonged to the Royal Navy, faster than the Merciless, and so, the ship picks up its pace with a surprising ease, ploughing through the calm water below towards the HMS Swallow that sails oblivious to their presence in the distance. “They’re going to hear us before they see us,” Vanessa advises above the sound of the wind and the crashing waves that form at the bow of the ship, barrelling down the steps to the deck where the rest of the crew stand waiting for their orders, “so, make it count.” David and Sam look pale, faces ghostly white, and the sight reminds Vanessa of her first fight, the way her knees had vibrated precariously beneath her own weight. “There’s no point getting nervous,” she says, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, “that’ll just get you killed.”

“You two,” Charity’s voice echoes resilient and clear through the noise from the helm, the tip of her sword pointing towards Aaron and Robert, “get below deck, take Pete and Sam with you and man those bloody cannons!”

They both glance apprehensively towards Vanessa, as though they’re waiting for her to approve the order, and she gives them a sharp, frustrated nod towards the hatch that leads down to the deck below. They scurry of a moment later, Robert slipping against the rain-soaked deck and clattering down the steps, only held upright by Aaron’s firm grip on the back of his shirt. “Billy?” Vanessa only just manages to restrain the roll of her eyes at Sam and David clumsily trying to tackle one of the cannons, turning to find the man in question handing out swords from the armoury towards the bow of the ship, “you’re with me.”

He rushes over, lumping the weapons into Jimmy’s unsuspecting arms before he grabs two muskets and shoves one of them into his belt. “Aye, Captain.” Billy solutes playfully, that wide boyish grin spreading across his face when he hands Vanessa one of the weapons. “You ready?” He asks, coming to stand beside her and they both turn to face out towards the HMS Swallow, growing closer and closer with each second, the sky above turning stormy and dark as the rain thrashes down at a slant.

Vanessa gives a snappish nod of her head, holstering the gun between her back and her belt and tries not to place too much focus on the hammering of her heart against her rib cage, fighting against the force of the rain that batters horizontally against her body instead. “You?”

“Nervous as hell.” He manages to mutter out through his own worry. “Last time didn’t exactly go to pla-”

But Billy’s cut off from answering when the Swallow falls into darkness.

“They’ve seen us.” Jimmy screams. He _always_ screams.

“Cannons at the ready!” Charity bawls from the helm, Cain taking the rudder without question or hesitation.

“Cannons ready.” Vanessa calls back, holding Charity’s stare and waits, refusing to drop her eyes.

The Queen Anne takes a sharp turn, almost falling to its starboard side when they seize their chance to cut off the HMS Swallow. Hurtling across its path and swooping down the far side of the ship. Vanessa stumbles with the force, feeling a strong breeze shove her into Billy’s solid side, but she doesn’t drop Charity’s eyes, waiting for the call.

They’re so close to the Swallow now, barely a couple of feet, that Vanessa can see faces staring at them out of the corner of her eye, their red coats appearing neatly crisp and spotless even through the darkness and the sight, albeit brief, has a sour taste like rancid wine forming in the back of her throat and a prickle of ice up the surface her arms, skin turning ghostly cold.

“Jus’ me,” Billy mutters, “but does it feel like someone’s just walked over our graves…”

She doesn’t answer, but she feels him shudder hard against her side and lets his words sit with her for a moment.

They’re not going to die this early on, Vanessa’s sure of it, but with that, her nerves worsen tenfold.

Vanessa’s free hand drops down to her hip, blindly checking her weapons that hang from the belt, pistol, sword, knife, all within reach and readily available for an attack.

They’re too close, close enough that the sparks of the fuses on the Swallow’s cannons light up the deck of the Queen Anne as the two bowing sides of wood scrape perilously against one another with an accompanying groan of pressure. “Captain.” Billy mutters impatiently, his shoulders tensing, “Vanessa?” He says again, firmly this time when she doesn’t answer, voice wavering towards the end of her name.

She knows they’re cutting it close, can feel the pounding of her heart like a countdown as she watches the smoke rise from the burning fuses on the end of the cannons facing them, but this isn’t her call, there’s a reason she left this to Charity.

Charity knows what she’s doing, knows how to lead an attack better than anyone on this ship. “Hold it,” Vanessa warns, reaching out to grip Billy’s wrist, stopping him from jumping into action too soon, “wait.”

Slowly, almost afraid to move too quick, Vanessa reaches out for two ropes hanging from the main mast that are attached to pegs on the edge of the railings. She hands one to Billy and gestures for him to copy her, winding the line around her fist and gives it a hard tug, making sure its secure in her hand. She feels the bite of rough rope burn against the soft skin of her palm but stifles the grimace that threatens at the edge of her mouth, she’s ready to feel the friction burn like a hot iron.

Her heart pounds deafeningly in her ears, blood rushing through her veins and palms sweating profusely, but the surface of her skin continues to run cold. She’s done well, a week or so without letting shadows of memories flicker across the inside of her eyelids and Vanessa steels herself for a moment, willing her eyes to remain focussed on Charity instead of giving into the burning need to blink when the Queen Anne gives a harrowing quake under the force of a cannon ball breaking through the hull of her ship.

The flicker of flames catch in the blade of a bayonet, but even across the short distance and out of the corner of her eye, Vanessa feels herself twitching uneasily, agitated.

But then Charity’s nodding, a fleeting smile in her eyes, and the roar of blood in her ear drums does nothing to silence out Charity’s voice as she screams, “_fire_,” from the helm.

Cannons erupt around them and explosions fill the air with the stinging scent of burning gunpowder and flashes of lightening that strike in the same instance. There’s no time for anything but orders and actions, all thoughts of survival kicking in instead.

The Queen Anne continues to rock under the force of the eruptions and with no idea who the raining splintered wood belongs to, Vanessa can only focus on her part of the plan and hope that her ship’s not about to sink to the bottom of the sea. Vanessa leads Billy up onto the ledge, balancing precariously on the soaked railing. She chances a glance up towards the helm, Charity’s got a rifle in her hand, firing off random shots across the Swallow, Jimmy at the bow doing the same. This is their chance, the cover Billy and her need to swoop across the stirring sea bellow, provided they dodge any stray bullets that whiz through the air with a whistle. “Now.” She says abruptly, not waiting for Billy as she steps off the edge, feeling the air knocked from her lungs when she swings away from the sturdy deck of the Queen Anne and out into unknown territory.

Vanessa manages to get in a few skilfully placed kicks before she’s even landed, knocking two Red Coats to the ground with the force that carries her, but when her feet hit the deck with a thud, Billy following less than a second later, she has to hoist the blade of her sword up in a hurry to block a sweeping strike that almost throws her off balance.

She covers Billy’s blind spots, keeps his back safe while he steadies a plank that slides across from the Queen Anne. She doesn’t blink until she catches Aaron, Robert and Jimmy in her peripheral hurrying across the walkway. 

Vanessa knows how to fight, defend herself, kill if she needs to, but she keeps her attacks nonfatal when she can, striking out to limbs that take longer to bleed out with enough force to take down a body twice the size of her own.

Charity had taught her how to do that. Her knowledge coming back to her in the form of muscle memory alone.

It’s why, when she regains her footing, her wrist flicks her sword to the left, catching a Red Coat just above his hip with a deep enough slice for him to wail out in pain and fall to the deck.

“What now?” Billy calls over the booming drone of cannon fire beginning to mix in with screams and shouts from the two crews coming together. “Where’s Noah?”

Vanessa barely has the chance to glance around before she has to block another attack, “no clue, but Charity’s got this,” she manages to grunt out, slamming the guard of her sword into a nose that comes too close to her face, “we just need to make sure no one dies.”

Red Coats seem to pour from every doorway, hatch and rigging, weapons raised, war cries on their lips. Vanessa lets one run straight into the blade of sword, giving a hard jerk with all the strength she can muster and blocks out the wet sound of something gory hitting the deck of the Swallow. Vanessa has to wipe away warm blood from her eyes, almost stumbling into the face of a musket, cutting her actions short to grab the burning metal of the gun in her hand. She yanks it away from her temple before the Red Coat can pull the trigger, flipping it within her own grip so she can swing it round across a solid cheek bone like a club.

She catches sight of blonde hair soaring from the Queen Anne and feels her chest contract around her heart, a rush of excitement fleeting through her body with the memories that accompany it. The sight never fails to take Vanessa’s breath away, and for a moment, that cold feeling against her skin subsides.

But Vanessa turns back to Billy just in time to watch his blade plunge deep into a soldier’s stomach, and the Red Coat slumps to the ground lifelessly. “Come on,” she shoves at Billy’s shoulder, “they’re here.”

The familiar sound of the Merciless’ cannons joins the carnage, sending more and more debris into the sky, sharp splinters of wood pour down on the ship with the icy cold rain. The HMS Swallow gives a hazardous shudder, and that smell of burning wood and gunpowder only grows stronger, but Vanessa leads Billy through the mess of bodies and rubble, towards where Jimmy’s collapsed against a broken barrel.

She has to dart to the side, her footwork uncertain on the slippery wood, and parries a sword that slashes at her face. She counters two more strokes and then ducks low, ramming her sword through the man’s thigh, shoves as hard as she can, and manages to catch another body in the same movement.

Then Billy’s grabbing Vanessa’s arm, hauling her down to the deck suddenly when a rogue body is sent soaring through the air above them with the force of an explosion up at the helm that mangles limbs with the rudder. The sound rings loudly in her ears, throwing the world into an uncontrollable spin and the force of being yanked and thrown to the ground at the same time has knocked the breath from her lungs with a painful blow in her back. “Jesus,” she manages to wheeze out painfully, giving her head a shake to try and regain some of her senses, before her eyes focus in on Jimmy again, now buried under a wedge of what looks to be half a door. “Watch my back.” Vanessa says, clambering up onto unsteady feet and closing the short distance between Jimmy’s seemingly lifeless body and herself. 

She vaguely registers the clashing of swords close to her own body, hears scuffling and a few cursed grunts from Billy, but Vanessa’s hands are busy trying to lift the broken door from on top of Jimmy, groaning as she slides it off to the side. it’s not until her hands fall to his neck in search of a pulse, however, that she realises she’s shaking, trembling with each hurried movement. There’s a strong pulse beneath Vanessa’s fingers but even that doesn’t calm her, because Jimmy’s got a hefty gash across his ribs that’s oozing blood out onto the deck. Vanessa can feel it soaking into her trousers, warm against the skin of her knees.

“Jimmy?” Vanessa calls, but her voice comes out broken and wobbly, losing its strength from earlier. “Jimmy,” she says again, trying harder this time to raise her voice, and Jimmy responds, moaning out a mumbled, ‘hurts’ under his breath. “I know, try an’ keep your eyes open, yeah?” She says, quickly glancing around for something to cover the wound. Her eyes land on a discarded red jacket and she makes quick work of balling it up in her hands and presses it down hard against his ribs.

“Did we win?” Jimmy’s eyes flutter lazily open before swiftly closing again when another explosion ripples across the deck and lights up the ship with an ominous orange glow. There’s a fire somewhere, too close, Vanessa can feel the heat against her face, but she can’t look up, because her clothes are soaked through from the rain, and the eruption of chaos around her feels almost too familiar.

“Not over yet.” It isn’t supposed to be like this, all frantic and panicky, she’s supposed to be okay out here, happy and excited but instead, Vanessa’s fighting down memories that are beginning to form through her clouded vision again, vainly attempting to quell a voice she’s managed to hide away in her subconscious for months. “Billy?” Vanessa calls through gritted teeth, finally looking up to find him finishing off another Red Coat, body tossed overboard carelessly. “You think you can get him back to the Queen Anne?”

There’s blood soaking through the jacket onto her hands, and it takes all the will power she has left inside her to remind herself that it’s not hers, that the scar on her hip isn’t really hurting. “‘Course.”

“Keep that press-” another flash of light, bluer this time, lightening, she thinks, “get him below deck, don’t let him bleed out.”

“Are you okay?” Billy frowns down at her, slumping to gather Jimmy’s arm across his shoulders.

“I’ll be over soon,” the Swallow’s drifting away behind too much light that’s almost blinding, bodies fading away with it until Vanessa can barely see Billy and Jimmy in front of her face.

Billy nods, throwing one last worrying glance over his shoulder before he clambers up onto the plank and lugs Jimmy across with him. She thinks she spots Robert rushing to help but Vanessa squeezes her eyes shut until stars explode behind her eyelids, only opening them when the chaos around her filters back in to her ears.

Charity’s effortlessly holding off three soldiers at once, an overjoyed grin pulling at her mouth, and Noah’s flying off towards the captain’s quarters like they’d discussed. She catches sight of Paddy lifting Matty to his feet and wiping away debris from his shoulders. Vanessa grabs her sword, tightening her grip on the handle before she limps off towards them, her ankle, which she only notices is hurting now that her adrenalin is begging to wear thin, screams at her to stop with each step. “Jimmy’s hurt.”

Paddy spins round, eyes wide with panic until he realises who’s talking to him, “I’ve got it here, you get back over there.”

Vanessa nods, about to retrace her steps over to the plank, when the distinctive shine of a blade comes soaring towards Paddy and her. She lifts her sword, arms moving of their own accord to block the attack and lets out a throaty grunt at the force used behind it. He’s twice the size of her, almost as big as Paddy, but that’s not what takes Vanessa by surprise as she shoves her own sword hard against the Captain of the HMS Swallow. His uniform torn and stained with blood and gunpowder, face much to the same affect, but his eyes, icy blue, has Vanessa’s blood running cold with a violent rush that causes her to buckle at her knees.

It’s impossible.

She has to remind herself when she blocks another attack.

Bails is dead, _he’s dead_.

Sliding her sword against his, the ringing of metal blade against blade sounds disconcertingly like malicious laughter against the walls of her skull and Vanessa has to lunge forward to cut the sound, catching his bicep with her sword.

And yet, here he is, as clear as day, squaring off in front of her with that same arrogant grace. She slips and stumbles around mangled debris and the steadily tilting of the sinking ship.

But there’s so much adrenalin and terror, a desperate need to not die at his hand, pounding through Vanessa’s body that it gives her the strength and speed to swing around on him again, catching him off guard when the sharp point of her sword sinks into his shoulder like a memory.

He lets out a long, familiar, shriek of pain, low and profound, and that’s what does it, the rain falling into her eyes and blurring the scene before her. She’s not on the ship anymore, the ground beneath her feet stills and levels out.

Everything stops.

Bails is staring at her, laughing all malicious and wicked, smiling at Vanessa because he knows he’s won, gotten away with everything just like he had done last time.

“_You’re weak, Vanessa_.”

Vanessa freezes and Bails throws himself at her landing a hard blow of a fist against the side of her face, reopening the cut on her eyebrow and busting her nose before he’s retreating, this time with his sword pointing straight at her.

“_They can see it too; you don’t belong here, you’re not their captain, Vanessa.”_

But she’s done this before, reliving the memories over and over again, each time letting the short blade of her dagger sink into her hip.

Christ, if she knows what’s real and what’s not anymore, but she’s not about to relive that pain again. Feeling an unfamiliar bout of rage burst within her chest, she sidesteps the attack effortlessly, spinning to his back and lifts her foot to kick the captain squarely between his shoulder blades, hard enough that he falls face first to the deck. His hat tumbles from his head and it gives Vanessa a strange sense of pride that mingles with the anger when she sees him slump exhaustedly, her lip turns up in disgust at the sight, a sound escaping her lungs that comes out somewhere between a growl and a laugh, sounding disgustingly inhuman. He’s making no effort to turn and fight, and Vanessa knows she should just do the same, turn and walk away, go find Billy and Jimmy and leave him for someone else to finish off.

Both of her hands clasp around the handle of her sword, rising it high above the wilting body at her feet before she brings it down with enough vigour and intensity that she feels the tip of the blade sink into wood for a good couple of inches.

The crunch of bones and wood fall on deaf ears and the rain that hammers down bounces off Vanessa’s body and each drop goes unfelt. She hardens her features, lifting her chin defiantly and stoops low to pick up his hat from the flooded deck, the wood soaked dark crimson around it, and brushes off the debris and dirt before she places it on her head.

All she can do is stare numbly down at the sight, her sword skewered at jaunty angle, swaying stiffly against the wind. Vanessa doesn’t feel much of anything when reality comes back around, pitch black darkness falling but everything remains silent, only the sound of the waves and the rain plummeting down to the deck reaches her ears and she can’t be sure if it’s because her mind is struggling to regain its senses or if it because the three crews muddled amongst the single deck have fallen silent.

That is, until a desperate hand, warm and comforting, clutches at her shoulder, tearing her from her spot and forces her over one of the planks and she feels the vibrations of a voice rather than hears it. She doesn’t see who the hand belongs to, the edges of her vision growing darker, but she knows without needing any of her senses.

Vanessa only manages to land on her feet on the other side of the plank because the hands guiding her lift her down and she suddenly realises she’s been cradled within the strong arms, keeping her right with her own feet hovering above the ground every now and then when she feels as though her knees are about to give out beneath her.

All there is for a long time is dark skies and cold rain until there isn’t any more and Vanessa winces against bright light and warm air and the familiar smoky smell of Charity’s pipe and rum fills her senses.

She manages to stumble her way down the stairs, slipping on the second to last step but she catches herself on the railing, feeling unadulteratedly intoxicated while she fumbles towards the table. Vanessa blinks heavily against the warmth, a strange sort of heaviness weighing down on her shoulders, knees knocking together and struggling to support her own weight, as though her body’s about to give up on her. She blinks once and then twice, and the room comes more clearly to her.

Charity’s hovering by the foot of the stairs, arms wrapped around her own body in an almost uneasy display of nervousness. She’s a mess, all soggy clothes, torn and stained and the black soot on her face has been washed away with the rain making her eyes seem lighter somehow, less focussed as they scan the length of Vanessa’s body helplessly in search of injuries. It’s the realisation that Charity’s unabashed show of worry for Vanessa is the first instance she’s seen in a long time, that has the last of the foggy confusion lifting. “I-” Vanessa drops her eyes to her tremoring hands, coated in thick, dripping and warm blood, and reaches up to skate them along the edge of one of the three points on the hat. Her hat. The one she’s won.

Vanessa’s legs give out suddenly, but Charity crosses the space dividing them in two quick strides before she can hit the ground and gathers Vanessa up into her arms. Charity eases them both down to the floor carefully, until her back is propped up against one of the table legs and Vanessa can curl up into the familiar warmth of Charity’s chest. Vanessa comprehends the expression on Charity’s face as though she’s seeing it through a mirror, recognisable but with something unacquainted about it at the same time, because when she tilts her head heavily back to look up, Charity doesn’t look worried like Vanessa’s seen her look before, when one of the boys fall down with a scream of pain, or when Vanessa wakes her up in the middle of the night.

This isn’t like any of those time.

She looks completely terrified.

Vanessa begins to break apart, face falling and body crumbling with the realisation that comes with the last hour, distant like a childhood dream. Hot tears flow down her cheeks, wrecked sobs clawing their way up her throat painfully, but Charity continues to hold her close, wiping at her face to rid her cheeks of the salty streams.

However, despite Charity’s efforts, Vanessa can’t stop sobbing, her voice growing croaky each time a distressed scream passes her lips.

But Charity continues with her futile ministrations, wiping at her cheeks, mummering softly into the top of her head in a way that does nothing to break through Vanessa’s bubble of all-consuming dread.

-

“I’ll get Paddy to come check that ankle for you later or somethin’.” Vanessa lets her eyes flutter closed when Charity gently pours the warm water over the back of her shoulders, listening to it trickle back down into the small bath that Charity’s had filled with steaming hot water. “Your nose doesn’t look broken.”

His voice is still echoing inside her head, contradicting Charity’s comforting words.

She’s got her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them to keep them close, to keep herself from falling apart again. It’s all she can think to do, but there’s nothing to quell the whispers that refuse to quieten down inside of her head.

Vanessa can still feel her body shaking but she’s not sure if it’s down to the chill in the air that has the hair on her arms standing on end or if she’s on some sort of come down from the fight. She supposes it could be both, mixed in with a bit of shock.

Whatever it is, though, Vanessa doesn’t have the energy left in her to even let her eyes open, never mind respond to Charity’s quiet observations.

“No one else got hurt, well,” Charity spurs on with her ramblings, “Robert lost a finger I think, an’ our Ryan’s got a good bullet hole in his arse cheek, but yeah.” Vanessa can picture Charity giving one of those dismissively amused shrugs.

The sound of Charity’s voice is comforting, even if Vanessa doesn’t react, each word pulling her back to reality and warming her chest, thawing the cold rage that had engulfed Vanessa back on the deck of the HMS Swallow. “You’ll ‘ave a nice bruise, mind; it’ll match your black eye.” Charity chuckles softly at her own words and Vanessa suddenly finds herself wanting to smile at the sound, but her lips don’t move, body drained and exhausted to the point where she suspects she could fall asleep right here with Charity holding her steady. “Can I do your hair?” Charity asks, scooping up another cup full of the warm water. Vanessa doesn’t respond so Charity sighs, dropping back into a sitting position. “Come on, Ness, talk to me,” Charity whispers, reaching out with a hesitant hand to cup Vanessa’s cheek, “_please_.”

The contact against her cheek has Vanessa’s eyes fluttering open half-heartedly, head tilting into the warm skin of Charity’s palm, but her throat feels tight and torn, tongue swollen in her mouth and Vanessa’s not sure if she’d be able to speak even if she tried to. As her eyes open fully, the only parts of her she can move in her state of complete paralysis, she’s thankful that it’s still dark outside and Charity’s blown out some of the candles around their room. She finds Charity’s gaze and holds it with a surprised intake of breath. Her eyes look greener than they usually do, stormy despite Charity’s relaxed demeanour, still filled with fear and helplessness.

“You’re okay now.” She says, despite the fact that Vanessa doesn’t feel it, voice coming out sure and calm, and she lifts the cup of water slowly and eases Vanessa’s head back, still holding her eyes as she pours it over Vanessa’s hair. “I’m not gonna make you talk about it.”

‘It’ being Vanessa’s lapse into madness, that ‘sickening of the mind’ she’d read about before Charity, killing a man she thought to be Bails, thought at the time he was. She squeezes her eyes shut tightly again, slowly trying to piece together her fractured memories while trying to pull in long breaths when her chest begins to constrict painfully around her lungs.

“Hey, whoah, come on,” Charity stops what she’s doing and drops the cup. Standing in a panic, she begins tearing off her own clothes, “it’s okay, love, just breathe.” Charity leans down and carefully shifts Vanessa forwards in the small tub and climbs in behind her, dropping down to cradle Vanessa’s hips between her thighs and wraps her arms around the shaking body in front of her. “Breathe for me, Ness.”

Vanessa can’t fight the audible sob that claws its way up her throat, dropping her head into the top of her knees to try and stifle the sound against her cold skin.

Charity’s grip only tightens around her body, keeping her grounded, and she buries her face into the back of Vanessa’s neck. “We’ve all killed people, Ness,” she begins to whisper slowly, but Vanessa shakes her head because Charity doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what Vanessa saw, what she did, “remember that time in the tavern in Tortuga? You said you felt helpless?” Vanessa doesn’t think she can show any signs of acknowledgment because her whole body is seizing around each petrified sob, but Charity continues on unfazed, “you never have to feel that way, Ness, _never_.”

It’s then that Vanessa feels hot tears burn down the back of her neck, feels Charity’s body shaking out of time with her own and realises, with a start, that Charity’s crying, too. It brings Vanessa forward a couple of steps out of her own internal torment, her hands shifting for the first time since Charity had helped her into the bath, and she heavily lifts them to cover Charity’s over her stomach. Charity thinks she’s upset about killing the captain, thinks she’s breaking into a million tiny pieces because of the _guilt_. “It’s not that.” The shattered sound of her own voice takes Vanessa by surprise, the way it croaks out past her lips. It doesn’t sound like her and the pair jump at the sound of it, “_Charity_,” Vanessa moans out her name, sad and broken.

But there must be something in Vanessa’s voice that Charity recognises, even if Vanessa doesn’t, that she understands for the first time. “Do you see him, too?”

It’s that understanding that has Vanessa giving in to that fight completely, slumping back against Charity’s chest with exhaustion and nods a weak jerk of her head. “It was him, I thought it were him,” she squeezes Charity’s hands beneath her own, groaning when Charity’s arms wrap tighter around her waist, “I couldn’t let him do it again.”

“Vanessa,” Charity’s voice comes through a worried whisper, her warm breath ghosting across the skin of her neck, “he’s dead, Bails has been dead for two years.”

“I _know_.” She grits through frustrated teeth, jaw clenched tightly. “I know he’s dead. That’s why I didn’t tell you,” she says, “feel like I’m going mad or something.”

“You didn’t tell me? How long- Wait- no, _no_, you’re not,” Charity shakes her head surely, pulling back an inch or so, tilting her head to the side to catch Vanessa’s eyes with her own, “because I see him, too, all of them.” Vanessa isn’t sure how that’s supposed to comfort her, in fact, the confirmation makes her more uneasy, somehow. “I see him when it’s dark and cold, I see Chris when I have those nightmares, and when I’m angry it’s their voices in the back of my head telling me to get angrier, not mine.” Charity says, reaching up to cup Vanessa’s unmarred cheek in her hand, dropping her forehead to meet Vanessa’s. “You’re not going mad.”

Vanessa feels her lips quiver, curling around another bout of tears, but this time she manages to hold them in her throat, her hand reaching up to curl around Charity’s wrist, keeping her from pulling away. “I thought that coming back out here would help.” Vanessa admits through a shuddering breath, “but it’s never been like that before, felt real like that, Charity.”

Vanessa lets out a whimper when Charity presses her lips to her forehead, “y’know, when I first got away from him, I couldn’t look at a bloke without seeing his face staring back at me.” She watches Charity gulp, her eyes fleeting down to the blood-stained waterline, “I’d make Irene stay in my room until I fell asleep because I was scared he’d find me and take me away again. Until it wasn’t just him I was scared of, wasn’t just him that hurt me.”

“How’d you make it stop?” Vanessa mutters, letting her eyes flutter closed when Charity pulls the cloth from the side of the tub to wipe at the drying blood on her upper lip.

Charity gives Vanessa a sad smile, “I didn’t,” she whispers a quick apology when she presses too hard on Vanessa’s nose, making her wince in pain, “I don’t think that’s something that can ever just stop, Ness.”

There’s a twinge of painful panic that bubbles in her gut at Charity’s confession, but her movements are soft and reassuring while Charity wipes away the last of the dirt on Vanessa’s face and the feeling quickly subsides when their eyes meet.

“I don’t get bad like that anymore, though,” Charity whispers, “I just had to deal with it, remind myself that they weren’t going to come for me.” It must show on Vanessa’s face that it’s not really what she’s hoping to hear, because Charity sighs, a little frustrated at her own inability to reassure Vanessa the way she’s trying to. “Talkin’ about it helped, with Irene and Chas, then with you, so bottling it up won’t do you any favours, Ness.”

She knows Charity is more of a physical person, better at showing than saying, and even then, that doesn’t always go how either of them want, but her words reach to somewhere in Vanessa’s mind despite how helpless Charity looks, and hushes the voice to a whisper. Vanessa nods weakly, tucking her head beneath Charity’s chin. She doesn’t say anything for a while, trying to focus on the steady rise and fall of Charity’s chest instead of the way her hands are still shaking uncontrollably around the grip she has on Charity’s wrist. “I was worried you’d think I was crazy.”

“Oh, I think you’re crazy alright.” Charity says seriously and Vanessa snaps her head back to stare at Charity, affronted and confused, heart falling in her chest. “Crazy for running away with us two years ago, crazy for agreeing to marry me, an’ then for going through with it,” she says, seriousness cracking away into a genuine smile, “but you’re not crazy for this, love.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa asks, finally feeling the stiffness leak with a rush of warmth from her face, a sincere smile tugging at her lips in its place.

“Yeah, Ness.” Charity ducks her head and captures Vanessa’s lips between her own, it’s gentle at first, barely any pressure behind the contact until Vanessa lets out a quite sob of relief. Charity makes to pull away when she registers the sound but Vanessa’s tangling her hands in her hair and pulling her closer, silently willing Charity not to let go as she turns and straddles her thighs, ignoring the water that sloshes over the edge of the bath and the pain that shoots through her face when she leans down and kisses Charity harder.

-

Paddy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and with the other, wrapped in a bandage stained red with his own blood, pats Vanessa’s ankle hard enough to draw a squeak of pain from her lungs. “You’ll live.” He says, giggling and climbs to his feet. “But you’ll be needing that for a few days if you’re walkin’ about.” Paddy waves his hand dismissively towards a wooden crutch resting against the desk on the other end of the room. 

“So, it’s just twisted?” Vanessa asks, rubbing her hand against the swollen, purple and black lump above her foot before throwing her legs over the edge of her bed, feeling a small rush of relief rising in her throat when Paddy doesn’t make any effort to discuss what happened on the Swallow past her physical injuries. She knows everyone witnessed her minor breakdown, and while Charity had reassured her over and over again during the night, Vanessa can feel niggling insecurities paired with Bails’ voice chipping away at the very last of her resolve.

Charity’s slouching by the long dining table, a deep bruise across her right cheek bone, highlighted by the early morning sun that’s streaming in through the window. She grabs up the crutch from the desk and carries it over to Vanessa.

“Sprained at most,” Paddy mumbles stepping out of Charity’s path quickly and shoots Vanessa a reassuring smile, eyes blinking like he’s trying to wink.

“An’ her nose?” Charity’s hands hover close to Vanessa’s waist while she makes herself comfortable with the crutch under her armpit. She sways on her feet, testing her own weight before she settles on the new support, accepting the reluctant assistance.

“Better bruise than her foot.” He makes his way over to the stairs, laughing to himself as he goes. “But nothing serious. Just keep them cuts clean, an’ you’ll be peachy in a couple days.”

“Paddy?” Vanessa calls, taking a hesitant step forward and wincing against the throb that shoots up her leg, “how’s Jimmy?” She asks, ignoring Paddy’s own amusement at his joke.

The way Paddy hesitates before turning around has a spike of fear rising in Vanessa’s gut, her mind immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario, but Paddy’s smile remains consistent on his face when his eyes meet Vanessa’s, “he’ll be okay. Managed to stitch him up, so ‘part from the blood loss, he’s looking good.”

Vanessa nods and shoots him a wide, relieved smile. “Good,” she breathes out, “I’ll go see him later, take him some fruit or somethin’.”

Paddy’s half way up the stairs when he ducks his head down beneath the steps above him, “he’ll probably be sleeping, but I think that’ll be good fr’im.” With that, he finishes his climb with one last fleeting smile towards Charity and Vanessa and disappears out onto the deck above, the door slamming shut to silence the howling of the wind and the methodical hammering of tools against the damaged hull outside.

Vanessa hobbles over to the desk, Charity following slowly behind her as a precaution. If it had been a week earlier, before she’d broken down and confessed all to Charity, Vanessa would have probably turned around and snapped, the frustration getting the better of her as it so often had over the past couple of years. But now, Vanessa doesn’t feel that irritation niggling at the back of her neck or that darkness following her like a hovering cloud. She grabs up a stack of documents and the ledger, attempting to juggle them within one arm. “Noah on his way over?” She asks, smiling when Charity offers to relieve her of some of the paper rolls.

“Should be here now.” Charity mutters around a yawn, checking the small pocket watch that’s been discarded in one of the draws in the desk from the previous crew of the Queen Anne. They still haven’t been to bed; the repercussions of the fight having kept the majority of the crew awake through the night with repairs to the ship, visits down to Paddy below deck and brief trips over to the steadily sinking wreckage of the HMS Swallow to salvage whatever supplies they can to last them the voyage to Tortuga. A trip Vanessa now finds herself growing more indifferent towards, because whether Noah’s story is true or not, neither ship will be able to make it back home without food – or rum, in Cain’s case. “Reckons he’s found it, eh.” Charity drops the watch back down to the desk and ignores the heavy thud it makes, sounding more than a little disbelieving.

“The map?” Vanessa’s head snaps to attention, eyeing an amused Charity curiously as she makes her way over to the stairs. “He was right, then?”

“We’ll see.” Charity smirks, before hurrying over to the bed again to pick up the hat that’s sitting forgotten on the edge of the sheets. “I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of being right yet, though.” She rounds the table, hesitantly holding out the hat for Vanessa to take, “did say you’d suit one,” Charity mumbles almost as though she’s nervous to suggest that Vanessa wear it as her own, “you won it.”

Vanessa frowns, eying the black navy issued hat with a weary uncertainty before she reaches out hesitantly, waiting for it to scald her hands or burst into flames under her touch. “Only because I thought it was Bails.” Vanessa mutters, not really meaning to speak her thoughts aloud. 

“Hey, whether it were him or not, you still fought that bloke off,” Charity says, stepping into Vanessa’s bubble of space and drops her hands to Vanessa’s hips, “really fucking well, Ness.” Taking the hat back from Vanessa, Charity trails her thumb across the gold detail along the edges before slowly lifting it, giving Vanessa enough time to back away. But Vanessa’s heart gives a gentle thud in her chest like it’s trying to pull her towards Charity, and she finds her knees buckling, body bending low enough for Charity to place the hat gently atop her head, readjusting it slightly to fit. “This looks better than mine.” Charity purses her lips into a playful pout.

“Swap?” Vanessa grins, straightening up, laying more of her weight onto the crutch beneath her arm, ignoring the urge to reach up and fidget with the frayed lip.

“No.” Charity clutches at her own hat petulantly, backing away from Vanessa as she bends the pliant back two corners to cover her ears – the material weathered and battered from years of use – clamping it to her head like a bonnet. “It’s mine.” She mutters, “you got your own now.”

Vanessa scoffs in amusement, shaking her head and stifling down a laugh at the sight. “At least mines clean.” She quips, reaching out the flick at Charity’s hat before turning on the stairs to head up onto the deck.

“Wait,” Charity calls, her hand clasping around Vanessa’s hand and drawing her back to face her. Vanessa pauses, a smile still playing on her lips. “I love you.” Charity’s words come out barely above a whisper, but the soft tone fills the air between them as if they were screamed from the crow’s nest, and Vanessa feels herself melting, appreciating the crutch and Charity’s hand that keeps her steady on her feet.

Vanessa ducks her head, feeling that warmth bloom inside of her chest again when she plants her lips firmly against Charity’s and knits her fingers through blonde, sea-curled hair. “I love you, an’ all.” Vanessa mumbles against Charity’s mouth, sinking her weight into the arms that tighten around her waist until she feels Charity hoist her up off the first step. The crutch drops to the wooden floor with a clatter, but the noise goes unnoticed because Charity’s cold hands yank her shirt from her trousers and slip easily beneath the light material and pulls a sharp, needy gasp from her lungs. “Charity,” Vanessa tries warningly, but her voice only comes out breathy and desperate, drawing an amused chuckle from deep in Charity’s chest.

“Don’t think they’ll mind us being a couple of minutes late.” Charity whispers smugly, running her lips purposefully down the column of Vanessa’s neck, only coming to a stop when she reaches the racing pulse beneath her skin. “Or not showing up at all.”

Vanessa can’t quite make her brain function in that moment, the rushing heat emanating from Charity’s kisses that ignite through her body has something short circuiting in her head, and her body begins to move of its own accord. She winds her legs around Charity’s hips, securing her place against her body, and still finds herself surprised by the strength Charity wields in her arms as she carries Vanessa over to the desk and plants her down on the edge with a shocking amount of ease. “I think Cain’ll have somethin’ to say.” Vanessa manages after a moment, threading her fingers into Charity’s hair again and pulling her back up to plant their lips together in spite of her words.

“His problem.” Charity leans into Vanessa, easing her backwards onto the desk and ignoring the soft clatter of paper falling to the floor.

Vanessa can only silently agree, nodding hastily as she yanks Charity roughly down on top of her and deftly slips her thigh between Charity’s. She can’t suppress the grin that splits her lips when Charity lets out a rough groan against her mouth, her hips rolling down in response.

“Mum?” The door at the top of the stairs swings open. A freezing cold gust of wind pours into the quarters and Charity bolts up right, shoving her shirt hurriedly back into the top of her trousers. The papers on the floor blow up into the air around the desk. “Ness?” Vanessa shoves Charity off her, sitting herself up to correct her own shirt and quickly tires to tame her messy hair.

“Heard of knocking, kid?” Charity quips, cheeks flushing noticeably. She crouches down to gather the ledger and papers to hide her own blush and stacks them haphazardly on the desk beside Vanessa, realising after a second or so that Vanessa can’t get down without the crutch that’s laying forgotten on the floor at the foot of the stairs.

“Heard of…” Noah trails off for lack of insults and snatches up the crutch before Charity can reach it, swinging it warningly at her before he offers Vanessa an embarrassed grimace and hands it over. “How’s it going?”

“Stiff and sore, but I’ll live, ‘cording to Paddy.” She shrugs, easing herself down off the desk. “You?”

“Not a scratch.” He says smugly, rounding on the table and pulling out a chair towards the far end. “Looks like you’ve been caught in the face by a cannon ball.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes playfully and hobbles her way up the table to sit down beside him. “Feels like it.” She mutters, holding her hands out towards Charity to pass over the papers. “Haven’t looked at it though,” waving a hand dismissively in front of her own face, she leans up to press a kiss to Charity’s cheek using the corner of her mouth that doesn’t feel like it’s been stung by a bee, “is it as bad as hers?” Vanessa chuckles around a grimace when both Charity and her wince at the pressure.

Noah’s expression twists into one of unease and he gives Vanessa a shrug in response, eyes dropping to his own neat pile of paper in front of him. “Jacob’s just talking to his dad, said he’d grab Cain on his way down.”

Noah’s practically vibrating with barely suppressed excitement, fidgeting with a folded edge of what looks to be the map in question. Vanessa’s eyes zero in on the faded paper, thin and flaking. It looks older than Vanessa herself, looks real enough, and that thought has her own excitement rekindling in her chest again. 

True to Noah’s word, Jacob and Cain wander down a few minutes later, Jacob carrying a bottle of something expensive looking, holding it out as an offering. “Nicked this from the Swallow.” He grumbles in the same boyish way that Noah does. “Thought it might help with the pain.” He places the bottle of wine down on the table between Noah and Vanessa before slumping off around the other side to sit opposite. 

“Thank you.” Vanessa stutters, a little surprised by the show of kindness. It was only yesterday that Jacob had been questioning her ability to lead an attack and now he was what? Rewarding her? Apologising? She flashes the bottle to Charity and her eyebrows climb her forehead in amusement, giving a satisfied nod of approval.

“You’re a good fighter.” Jacob says, diverting his gaze towards the bottle.

Vanessa glances between Noah and Charity uneasily, trying to gage their own reactions to form her own response. In the end, when all she finds is equal confusion, she gives Jacob a kind smile and turns to Cain. “Why don’t you get some glasses?” She juts her chin towards a case behind where he’s standing. “Heard we have some celebrating to do.”

With this, Noah straightens up in his seat, clapping his hands once before turning to face Vanessa and Charity, a wide, beaming smile pulling his lips upwards in a way that has Vanessa’s heart giving a familiar beat against her ribs. He’s got Charity’s smile, guarded most of the time but there’s always the rare occasion it becomes genuine, reaching their matching eyes.

“I was right.” Noah says, almost tearing the map in two in his haste to spread it out across the top half of the table. It’s big, the edges hanging down over the sides and into Vanessa’s lap. “That crew was hired, which makes them no better than us.”

“Why’s that?” Vanessa asks, her interest piquing as she leans onto the table with her elbows, peering down at the fading outlines of landmasses. It’s a section of sea she doesn’t find herself familiar with at first glance.

“They’re pirates... technically.” He explains with a shake of his hand, struggling to keep his voice calm. Noah’s eyes race over the surface before they stop dead on a point up towards the left corner of the map. “This is it, here.” He taps his finger quickly and everyone in the room leans over the map curiously, eyeing the tiny red ‘x’ on a piece of land that Vanessa still can’t find stored away in her brain, no matter how much she wracks her memory.

“Where is this?” Charity speaks doubtingly, asking the question that Vanessa was seconds away from asking herself.

Noah gives a gleeful shrug, still beaming. “No idea.”

Vanessa frowns and slouches back into her chair dejectedly and Cain lets out a disbelieving scoff from the bottom of the table. “Lost the fucking plot, boy.”

“Oi.” Charity snaps, pointing a warning finger at Cain, “watch your mouth.” She turns back to Noah, leaning over Vanessa’s shoulder, “how much have you had to drink? Are you eating enough?”

Noah and Charity fall into a silent exchange, glaring at one another until Charity gives up, falling into the chair beside Vanessa. “Right,” Noah starts, relenting, “if you’d all let me explain instead of getting all-”

“Noah,” Vanessa reaches across to his hand and pats it gently. He calms instantly.

“This letter,” he explains, giving Vanessa a grateful smile when he begins working his way through the stacks of papers, “explains everything.”

“Enough of the theatrics, kid.” Cain snaps, growing more and more frustrated.

“You go to bury your treasure, yeah?” Noah directs his words to Cain now. “You don’t do it somewhere people know, don’t stick it in your back garden, ‘cause then everyone’ll be able to find it.” Vanessa and Charity both nod despite the fact that Noah’s talking directly between them. “So,” Noah says smugly, clearly enjoying the fact that he has the upper hand in this situation, “you bury it somewhere people _literally_ won’t be able to find, even with this map because it makes no sense!” His voice grows in pitch, excitement piquing with each word.

“I don’t understand.” Vanessa says, shaking her head. “What use is this map if it makes no sense?”

“Because to hide treasure this important, even the owner would have to bury it somewhere they wouldn’t be able to find so easily.” Charity supplies quietly, a faint but thoughtful frown etched between her eyebrows. “It’s pretty brilliant, actually…”

“That’s great to know, but how are we s’posed to find it, then?” Vanessa asks, rubbing at her temples and grimaces against the colossal pounding in her head. She imagines this must be what it feels like to be hit by a cannon ball. The state of her face, along with the lack of sleep, has her head feeling as though she’s on a come down from a week long bender, slow and lagging in the way it had done those two months on the Queen Anne without food or water before Tortuga.

“With this.” Noah pulls out yet another piece of paper from the endless stack, crumpled and looking just as old as the map. He straightens it out on the table then passes it over to Vanessa.

Vanessa squints through the thumping behind her eyes and begins to read. “’_Capt’n Bones once sailed alone on a calm and empty sea’_… this is what you told us about at the bonfire, it’s just a silly story.”

“Not so silly when you have the map to prove it.” Noah argues.

“A map that doesn’t make sense, kid.” Charity shoots back, “it’s just a fairy tale, anyone could have made this.”

“No it’s not.” Noah groans around a frustrated sigh. “Keep reading, here.” He points a little way down the page in Vanessa’s hand.

Vanessa breathes calmingly but doesn’t protest, turning her eyes back down to the story. “’_There’s nary a soul who’ll sail for my gold for wicked I’ve done with glee.’ ‘If wicked you’ve done, then wicked you’ve won there’s many a wicked to see…’” _Vanessa slowly straightens out the paper halfway through the verse, having read enough to understand. But she doesn’t look up, frowning down at the page like the questions that are swirling around the inside of her skull will filter up from the red inky writing in some sort of answer. “I think I understand this,” she says carefully, slowly, “but how do we fit into this? I know we’re pirates, but we don’t do this,” Vanessa taps her finger over ‘_wicked.’_ “We don’t do it for the sake of killing people, do we?”

There’s a part of her that worries about the response her question will get her. She’s never enjoyed killing people, never enjoyed hurting people either, but her jaw tightens when those fragmented memories of the night before flicker behind her headache. Vanessa can’t admit that she enjoyed what she did, but she had wanted to kill that man under the impression he was Bails. But to fully admit that to herself, riddle her choices and decisions into this silly ghost story she’d heard when she was a child, the thought is enough to make her feel sick.

“I thought that crew had been hired to find the treasure.” Noah says, his voice taking on an assuring lilt. Charity’s hand slinks beneath the table and clutches at Vanessa’s knowingly, both women falling silent, patiently waiting for some sort of reassurance. “I was wrong,” Noah doesn’t look best pleased to admit such a thing, but he ploughs on, “they were hired to follow another ship, and by the looks of it, they were heading to Tortuga.”

“Why’d you say that?” Jacob speaks up and Vanessa jumps, forgetting for a brief moment that he was even in the room.

“Because of this.” Again, Noah slides another piece of paper towards Vanessa, the letter this time. “It’s the Red Coat’s.”

Frowning, Vanessa turns the thicker paper in her hands, inspecting its broken seal with a twinge of recognition. But when nothing immediately comes to mind, she opens up the folds and begins to read aloud once more. 

“‘_Captain Cairn, of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, for the sum of eight hundred pieces of gold, farm land at the site agreed upon and all debts to the Crown cleared, you will be rewarded on return with the full completion of the following request.’” _Vanessa feels the edge of her lip twitch, that inkling of recognition beginning to gnaw frustratingly somewhere in the back of her mind. “‘_You are to follow the _Tate’s Revenge _on their incursion to find the treasure of Billy Bones without their knowledge, and to retrieve the treasure before the Tate’s. I have enclosed documents that will assist you during this request, however, to go off course, or to try and execute this mission ahead of time, will lead to failure and your own demise at the hand of the Crown. I will join you at the tavern in Tortuga three weeks from the arrival of this letter and entrust you with further instructions. Governor-” _Vanessa’s voice breaks off into a sudden croak in her throat.

“Governor Clayton.” Noah supplies, oblivious to the way the room around Vanessa is beginning to spin, the air growing thick and suffocating. “Well, _ex_-Governor Clayton.”

“Jesus Christ.” Charity snaps suddenly, startling the room back into a heavy stillness that still doesn’t put Vanessa at ease. “This is ridiculous,” she stands, slamming her hands down on the table with enough force to wobble the bottle of wine, “I should have killed her when I had the chance, and Clayton, fucking _Clayton_-”

Vanessa stands abruptly, toppling the chair with a clatter. She should have recognised the seal immediately, she’s seen it enough to know it’s Franks, surely two and a half years isn’t long enough to forget such a thing. “You- he, erm,” she rubs at her forehead, “you said back home, that he was a ‘disgraced Red Coat’,” Vanessa manages through a shuddering breath, running her hands anxiously through her hair.

“As far as I could tell, he was, yeah,” Noah says, obliviously, “no hat, coat stripped, could have done with a good shave, an’ all.” He glances between Charity and Vanessa, “what’s wrong?”

Vanessa waves for Charity to answer, pacing up and down the length of the table and ignoring the painful throbs that shoot up her leg with each step. “Governor Clayton, remember? That’s Frank. Her dad.”

“Well shit.” Jacob mutters, corking the wine and pouring himself a hefty glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” Vanessa says quickly, stopping at the far end of the table and pressing her palms together in a steeple, bringing them up to her lips as she pulls in a calming breath. “So, my dad hired this crew to tail the Tate’s?” She asks, eyeing Charity carefully, realising the weight of their situation with a start. Charity’s good at hiding things, steeling her features well enough to not notice any sort of tell, but Vanessa can see a distant panic beginning to form in the green of her eyes.

“Yeah.” Noah nods and climbs to his feet, too, but doesn’t step away from the table.

“Why?”

“Well,” he says, folding up the letter and slipping it into his back pocket, “that’s what we have to find out.”

“In Tortuga?” Vanessa limps back over to her chair and sits herself down, slumping tiredly into Charity’s side. Noah gives another nod.

“So,” Charity starts, bracing her arm across the back of Vanessa’s chair, “let me get this right. Clayton hired this crew to follow Kim flippin’ Tate because she’s already going for this treasure? But she doesn’t have the map, right?”

“Maybe she doesn’t need it? Like I said, it doesn’t make any sense.” Noah shrugs, slowly packing up his things.

“Yeah, right, okay.” Charity nods, “but they’re following her because she knows how to get there, or at least, has a way of getting there if this is anything to go by.” Charity picks up the poem again, silently re-reading the words to confirm her own trail of thought. “’_For wicked I’ve done with glee.’ _She definitely fits the bill._”_

“So, Kim Tate can get to this treasure because she likes being a killer?” Cain grumbles. “Let me go kill someone now, that’ll do.”

“Well, not exactly.” Noah waves the folded map out and purposefully ignores Cain, “she can get to wherever this is, this place. That’s why Clayt- Frank, needed this crew to follow her, but without the map, she can’t find the actual treasure.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to find a box of metal if you ask me.” Charity mutters dismissively.

“Which is why, I say we go to Tortuga, meet Frank, and find out what we can an’ then go from there.”

Vanessa pulls in a calming breath, willing her eyes to stay shut for a brief moment until the light stops hurting her head, until she can get her brain functioning in a rational way.

“Ness, love? What do you think, we can turn around right now and go home, if that’s what you want?” Charity’s voice drops an octave, loud enough for the others to hear but quiet enough that they know she’s talking to Vanessa only. “Your choice.”

She’s not sure what she’s looking for when she opens her eyes, an answer maybe, a sign that this is all too big for them, too much to deal with now. But there’s nothing, just understanding written across Charity’s features, that whatever Vanessa chooses will be the right decision.

Both Noah and Jacob are staring at her with excited hopefulness, all but vibrating in their seats in anticipation while Cain’s slumped himself against the bookcase looking entirely too bored of the whole situation.

Vanessa half expects the world to come crashing down around her when she opens her mouth to reply.

“We’d have to go to Tortuga for supplies, anyroad.” Vanessa shrugs but her heart’s pounding out a gallows drum against her ribs, “might as well find out what this is all about.”


	5. Dead or Alive

“Typical, init,” Vanessa mutters into her clenched fists, elbows resting on the side of the bed, “runs off at the first sign of trouble when his own daughters are concerned, but gets himself mixed up in this mess, with a Tate of all people.”

She’s thankfully that Jimmy’s sound asleep, snoring noisily in the dimly lit sick bay. He looks too big for the cot, his feet hanging off the edge, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Vanessa had wandered down a while after Noah had left, after Cain had made his way up to the helm and Charity had collapsed down into bed for a few hours of sleep. 

It’s nice being able to just talk to a room without worry of judgement or concern, not that Charity would offer any of that unless it was explicitly needed, of course, but the quiet is nice, calming even, under the guise of actually talking to someone. “Maybe I shouldn’t ‘ave given them the go ahead.” She rubs tiredly at her face, the exhaustion creeping up on her, “should’a told Charity to turn this ship around and take us home. Starting to think this whole thing was a huge mistake, all it’s achieved so far is making these… these things in my head worse.” Vanessa waves a flustered hand around her skull before dropping it to the crook of her elbow to stare up blankly at Jimmy’s pale face.

“I knew Charity’d missed this, y’know,” she plays with a frayed thread on the scratchy blanket, feeling the words spilling from her lungs without a fight, “an’ I know she enjoys being out here, but so far all she’s been doin’ is looking after me, dealing with all my problems.” Vanessa sighs and lets her eyes drift closed.

“And now, she has to deal with this, the flamin’ Tate’s wiggling their way back into her life.” Her teeth tug at her bottom lip, biting down harder than she means to. “Charity’s dealt with so much, she’s gone through things no single person should ever have to, and for the sake of ‘one last adventure,’ she’s putting herself through it all again.”

She’s waiting for a response, but Jimmy continues to snore loudly, oblivious to the rest of the world. “She’s strong, though, I know that, but I can’t help but wonder if maybe we’ll be worse off after this whole thing is over, y’know?”

Jimmy grumbles something in his sleep and tosses himself over onto his side so he’s facing away from Vanessa. “Yeah, you’re probably right, just over thinkin’ as usual.” She laughs dryly to herself, “we were fine last time, we’ll be fine this time, too.”

“‘Course we will.” Vanessa lets out a yelp of surprise, jumping in her seat as she spins around to find Charity leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Vanessa stands with the help of her crutch, brushing herself down before she makes her way over to a bowl of water that’s somehow managing to stay still on top of a shelf despite the gentle sway of the ship. “How long you been standing there for?” She wrings out a soaked cloth and carries it back over to Jimmy, placing it on his forehead to bring down his temperature.

“Couple of minutes, didn’t want to disturb you.” She says with a gentle smile, and pushes herself up off the door frame, coming to stop just behind Vanessa.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow.” Vanessa gives Jimmy’s arm a squeeze.

Charity chuckles, nudging Vanessa’s arm playfully with her own. “You know he can’t hear you, right?”

“Shut up.” Vanessa feels her cheeks heating up, a blush rising up her neck. “That was the point.”

Charity nods with a knowing understanding and holds her hand out for Vanessa to take, slowly leading her back out of the room and towards the stairs up to the deck above. “I didn’t mean to listen in.”

“It’s alright.” She drops Charity’s hand in favour of wrapping her arm around her waist, smiling to herself when Charity’s own arm instinctively moves to her shoulders. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to consider taking back my statement about you not being mad.” Charity gives Vanessa a squeeze to let her know she’s teasing. “I’m not worried about Kim Tate, though.”

“I know you’re not. Doesn’t mean I’m not worried for you, though, does it?” She drops the hatch closed behind them, wincing as the bang echoes across the top deck and Cain leans over the railings at the helm to glare down at them.

Charity guides them both down the stairs into their quarters, dropping her arm to light some of the lanterns now the sky above has grown dark and gloomy again. “I should probably explain a few things.” She says, kicking off her boots and tossing her coat lazily onto the desk.

“What’s that?” Vanessa leans her crutch against the foot of the bed, gingerly tugging off the boot on her bad foot and flicking the other one off with ease, her eyes following Charity around the room while she undresses.

Charity plonks herself unceremoniously down on the bed beside Vanessa, tumbling backwards with a tired groan. “When you were with us that first time, Ness, that were easy, believe it or not,” she says around a yawn, arms tossed across her face. “Obviously it got a bit messy in Port Royal, but it was literally plain sailing before that. Couldn’t believe our luck, usually it’s like this, fighting and maps and all this messy stuff.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa eases her way up the bed and props herself up on one of the pillows, gesturing for Charity to lay her head on her thighs. “I did begin to wonder after you warned me about battles and stuff, when they didn’t happen for a good five months.” She laughs tiredly, combing her fingers through Charity’s hair. Sometimes she forgets it’s shorter now, expects her fingers to keep travelling down through long tresses of blonde hair like they used to. But she likes this, likes the change, likes how it suits Charity effortlessly.

She makes a mental note to find Moses and extra big present as a thank you for blowing up the garden and half of Charity’s hair with it.

“Mhm.” Charity mumbles, eyes struggling to remain open through Vanessa’s ministrations. “But this isn’t the first time I’ve bumped into her, and it definitely won’t be the last.”

“She was in Tortuga with Bails,” Vanessa drops her own head back and closes her eyes, “when we were supposed to meet you.” She says instead of ‘when Bails captured us,’ because it still stings to talk about that.

“Noah mentioned tha’, said Joe had gone runnin’ his mouth to her.”

“Who is she? To you, I mean.”

Charity pulls away, but quickly moulds herself to the length of Vanessa’s body, wrapping her hand around her hip and pulling her close. “She married Chris’ dad a couple years before I met him, did it for the money I s’pose, not that she’d admit that, too proud.”

“So, she’s sort of like Noah’s grandma?” Vanessa grimaces, mirroring Charity’s own expression.

“Mhm, but don’t say that out loud again.” Charity shivers at the thought and Vanessa can’t help but smile at the sight of it. “Hates my guts for what I did to Chris.”

“But you didn’t kill him?”

“Doesn’t matter, she thinks I did, blames me a’least.” She says with a dismissive shrug.

Frowning, Vanessa plays with the fingers splayed out across her hip, “you don’t think this treasure hunt has anything to do with that, do you?”

“Doubt it,” Charity manages, her voice coming out heavy and slow, she’s on the verge of sleep and Vanessa can feel herself swiftly following, “she’s only after the treasure, doesn’t know your dad’s meddling, does she?”

Vanessa hums her agreement, it’s a half-hearted sound, because there’s that niggling feeling on the edge of her subconscious again that’s telling her they’re missing something, that there’s more to this than a dodgy map that doesn’t make sense and a race to a dusty box of old gold.

But she hasn’t slept in who knows how long now and the fancy bottle of wine that sits empty on the table is willing her to give in and just sleep.

-

The morning is exactly how she remembers it being a year ago.

It’s warm for spring, the sun high in the sky and not a single cloud mars the clear blue above. Vanessa lets her eyes flutter closed against the bright light and breathes in the salty air that’s become muddled with the strong smell of grass and flowers from the mountains around them and tugs her steaming cup of tea into her chest.

She lets the scent calm her, feeling her heart rate fall in her chest and only opens her eyes again when she feels Tracy’s fingers knit between her own. “Ready, V?”

“Just a second.” Vanessa whispers, because this isn’t what she’d said the first time, but she’s afraid to raise her voice with the sheer excitement pulsing through her veins like she had done, as though the memories of the day will fall away into her subconscious again. She’s clinging to the happiness; feels the warmth it brings filling her sleeping body. “I want to remember this.” Vanessa had squealed her excitement that day, bouncing on the balls of her feet before throwing herself into Tracy’s arms and hauling her down the path as fast as her heels could carry her.

The edges of her memories are foggy, blurring into another image before she can stop to appreciate the last.

Her dream fast forwards, coming to a misty stop at the track beneath the trees that lead down to the beach. The canopy hung with long streamers of white and yellow flowers, the decorations down to Leyla, she assumes. When Vanessa slows her pace, Tracy and Noah eye her warily. “Not havin’ doubts are you, Ness?” Noah asks, giving her a playful smile that doesn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes.

She turns to him, giving his arm a squeeze that’s linked with hers. “No, love.” Vanessa looks out across the sea front, the villagers all congregated down on the sand, and then she spies Charity, nervously wringing her hands beside Chas and Harriet.

She feels herself laughing, can’t hear the sound, but even sleeping, her chest rumbles and vibrates when she spies Johnny and Moses playfighting at Harriet’s feet, Chas and Paddy trying to pry them apart.

There’s another flood of warmth across her body, it’s a comforting sort of sensation, but she presumes it’s probably just Charity shifting in her sleep beside her, wrapping an arm across her mid-section.

Vanessa blinks and they’re down on the sand, she can feel the warm grains slide between her toes, sinking into the ground with each barefooted step she takes.

Charity’s beaming with that brilliant smile, careless to the soppy comments that are whispered under their friend’s breaths. Their eyes meet and Vanessa suddenly feels as though she can float, her cheeks aching with the strain of her own grin.

But with each step, Vanessa feels her actions beginning to turn sluggish, moving in slow-motion while the world around her continues at its own pace. The space that separates Charity and herself suddenly begins to extend, the couple of feet turns into meters, then yards, until Vanessa can’t make out the features on Charity’s face when thick, black clouds thunder above, only the outline of a blade that punctures her body from behind. A sword plunging through her stomach and an icy air ghosts across the surface of her skin when Vanessa catches steely eyes over Charity’s shoulder –

But it’s not Bails. 

Kim Tate smirks down at Vanessa, watches passively as Charity falls in a crumpled and lifeless heap at her feet. “See you soon, _Vanessa_.”

-

Vanessa’s forgotten how warm Tortuga is, even with the bad weather following them out on the sea, the air remains muggy and humid, smothering them as they dock at the edge of the harbour, away from prying eyes. Of course, Noah takes the Merciless as close to the shoreline as he can, showing off the ship like a trophy piece, and Charity scoffs with a roll of her eyes when they climb out of the small rowing boat on the dock and catches sight of the display.

“I was gonna say keep your heads down, but there’s no point in that now.” She mutters, waiting for the crew of the Queen Anne to gather at the foot of the stone steps that lead up into the small market on the edge of the town. “We’ve got a job to do, though, so keep an eye out for any of Kim’s crew and don’t draw any attention to yourselves if you can, we don’t want to tip her off.”

“Where’s Robert-” Vanessa glances quickly over the heads of the crew but when even Aaron gives her a moody looking shrug, she shakes her head uninterestedly. “Stick in pairs,” Vanessa adds, “Aaron, I suppose you can go with Billy, Paddy an’ Marlon, Cain… do what you want, you’re alright on your own, the rest of you,” she eyes the new members, still roughed up and rugged from their battle, “stay out of trouble.” They all give a round of nods, muttering quietly amongst one another. “You have a list of supplies, get them, take them back to the ship and meet us in the tavern at the top of the hill tonight.”

“We’ll be in the back room.” Charity says, lacing her finger through Vanessa’s when she tilts her hat down over her eyes to hide as much of her face in shadow as she can, then drags Vanessa up the steps and into the market.

“Charity,” Vanessa starts, quickly realising she hasn’t left anything for them to stock up on, “I didn’t write us a list.”

Charity shrugs, “good, never used to bother with that stuff myself, anyway.” She doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to their conversation, though, her eyes darting around the market cautiously, stilling every once in a while, on a wall littered with posters and graffiti, or the junction of a street that leads off behind the row of buildings that flank their sides.

“What’s up?” Vanessa asks, pulling Charity to a slower pace, following her line of sight, trying to find something distinguishable.

“You notice something about this spot?” She mutters, attention still not completely on Vanessa. “It’s quiet.”

Vanessa’s visited Tortuga a grand total of three times in her life. The first had been with the crew of the Merciless, but most of that visit had been spent up on a hill top beneath a tree with Charity and then down on the far side of a valley where she’d had a cup of tea and a dry biscuit with Irene. But now that she thinks of it, their trip through the market itself had been, while albeit a brief affair, spent side stepping and dodging people bustling between stalls, drunks stumbling from taverns and brothels and pirates fighting in the middle of streets.

The second time, Vanessa hadn’t spent long enough in this part of the town to really pay attention to how busy it was.

But now that she does have the time, Vanessa notices the lack of excitement in the air, and the small amount of people who are out and about, seem more subdued, content with wandering the streets quietly within the shadows. There’s only a handful of stalls, fresh fish and vegetables, one selling rusty old, second-hand weapons, but nothing to the extent of Vanessa’s first visit, even the brothel seems vacant of life. And it’s that, that has Vanessa suddenly feeling on edge.

“It can’t be because of what happened with the soldiers, can it?” Vanessa asks, shifting closer to Charity while her hand drops to the hilt of her sword.

“No, they cleared off with Bails.” Charity mutters, “my guess is Kim.” She says distantly.

“How is it, that just a name can make me feel sick to my stomach?” It’s rhetorical and Vanessa doesn’t expect a response, but Charity gives her one anyway.

“That’s what people used to say ‘bout me, love,” Charity finally draws her eyes down to Vanessa and smiles teasingly, “The Widow, Lady Tate,” she lists, leading Vanessa down a side street. “Think it’s the stories behind the name that has the effect.”

“Makes sense.” But the knowledge doesn’t ease the nauseous feeling in Vanessa’s gut. “So,” she says, shaking her head, “what’re we doing today?”

Grinning down at Vanessa, Charity wriggles her eyebrows, “thought we could take some food up to that hill again.” Vanessa feels a hot pool of heat form between her legs and her crutch gives a precarious wobble beneath her weight, “_enjoy the view_.”

Vanessa hums out her agreement, doesn’t trust herself to form any other sort of coherent response. She leans her weight into Charity’s side, foregoing the use of the crutch, and winds her arm around her waist, playing deliberately with the hem of Charity’s shirt before she slips her fingers beneath the material.

Charity lets out a breathy sigh and Vanessa watches as a deep blush climbs its way up to her cheeks.

“Vanes- Captain!” A voice calls from behind them, the sound carrying across the street.

“‘Don’t draw attention to yourselves,’ might as well ‘ave told them to raid the flamin’ place, cannons blazing, rape, pillage an’ the lot.” Charity grumbles.

“Yes, Paddy?” Vanessa snaps with a little more venom to her voice then she means to use. The inquisitive eyes of a nearby drunk zone in on them and Vanessa finds herself tipping the front of her hat down across her eyes, too.

Paddy bumbles up the street, panting and struggling to catch his breath. He wipes the sweat from the top of his head with a dirty hanky and shoves it back into his pocket. “Noah’s sending Matty back to the island.” He manages to croak out.

“Why?” Charity steps forward with a frown, squaring her shoulders in a way that needlessly conveys her displeasure.

“With letters an’ stuff, he said. Matty knows his way through the fog, don’t he?”

“Right?” Vanessa pulls a face, unable to see a rhyme or reason as to why this concerns them in the slightest and struggling to keep her own irritation in check. Paddy’s already stumbling over his words, and despite the half foot he holds on Charity, he somehow has to tilt his head back to meet her eye.

“Ah,” he says, giggling when he presses his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Noah thought you’d want to let Tracy know,” there’s something on the ground that draws his attention away from both Charity and Vanessa, and he eyes the dirt beneath his boots carefully, “an’ the kids, y’know, let them know what’s going on and tha’.”

“_Oh_,” they both deflate at the same time, impatience seeping from their frames. “Right, of course, when’s he leaving?”

Paddy chances a quick glance up, wary of the almost guilty sounding tone of Vanessa’s voice. “Before sun up, taking half of Noah’s crew with him.”

“We’ll give ‘em to him tonight.” Charity says, turning on her heel without another word, not waiting for Vanessa before she turns another corner in the direction, she vaguely remembers, that leads up to the town square.

Vanessa gives Paddy a kind smile, one she hopes will ease some of his awkwardness, “ask Matty if he’d mind taking Jimmy an’ all, would you?” She says and scurries off after Charity, holding her hat down on her head to keep it from flying off. “Charity.” She hisses through a whisper, “wait, would you, I’ve got small legs.”

What she expects from Charity isn’t what she finds. Vanessa rounds another corner and crashes straight into her side, down a dimly lit alley way and behind a stack of lobster traps. She freezes, almost anticipating Charity to turn and snap at her, but Charity’s shoulders are shaking, lurching up and down and then Vanessa hears a bark of laughter that bounces off the wooden walls of the buildings surrounding them. “Love,” Charity’s eyes are shining, amusement playing at her lips, “did we forget about the kids?”

Vanessa has to bite down on her lip to keep her own laughter in check, but the corners of her mouth rise in spite of her efforts and she sinks into Charity’s side, “don’t say it like that, we sound awful.”

“We are!” Charity lets out a howl of laughter, a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment filling the sound, but she wraps her arms around Vanessa and pulls her behind the traps, away from the prying eyes of the occasional passer-by. “You feel guilty?”

Frowning as her laughter dies to a gentle chuckle, Vanessa mulls the question over for a moment, coiling her fingers around the front of Charity’s shirt. “We’ve been busy,” she reasons aloud, knowing fine well it’s no real excuse, but it is the truth, what with the HMS Swallow being at the forefront of their minds and then the aftermath… “and I mean, it’s not like we haven’t thought about them at all,” she trails off, feeling another bout of laughter rise up in her chest.

“I remember them when it’s quiet in the morning,” Charity teases, pulling Vanessa so she’s flush against her chest and ducks her head to skate her lips against Vanessa’s neck, “an’ when I get to do this without having to worry about one of them running in on us.”

Vanessa lets out a low hum, feeling her eyes roll back in her head when Charity bites down gently on the pulse beneath her skin. “It’s not like we don’t miss them,” she manages through a breathy moan, legs giving a wobble.

“And we’ll see them again soon.” Charity’s grip tightens perceptively, holding Vanessa steady when she slips her thigh between hers. Vanessa can’t suppress a loud moan from clawing at her throat when she feels the friction between her legs, feels the familiar pooling of heat sit _just right_. 

“We can’t do this here,” Vanessa’s whines, her hands moving of their own accord, yanking Charity’s shirt from the front of her trousers in a desperate need to feel bare skin, in the same moment that Charity presses up with her thigh. 

-

They don’t go up to the tree on the top of the hill, the one that looks over the harbour towards the north side of the island. Instead, Vanessa lets Charity take the lead, walking for what feels like hours on her aching ankle, along the side of the hill and down a narrow dirt track that Vanessa recognises immediately. Charity slows her pace and stops every now and then to let Vanessa rest, but the whole walk is spent in relative silence – a silence that allows flashes of dreams and reality to mingle and fuse, feeding their way into the forefront of Vanessa’s mind.

It’s not awkward, but the air feels stiff and weighted between them, and Vanessa can see that Charity’s fighting some inner battle with her thoughts. With every other step Charity takes, she matches it with a concerned glance over her shoulder in Vanessa’s direction when she doesn’t think she’s paying her any attention.

She knows Charity’s dying to ask what’s playing at Vanessa’s thoughts, why Vanessa can’t quite find it in herself to make eye contact with her, or why, after their brief fumble behind the crates, Vanessa had clung on so tightly, her hand slipping to Charity’s scarred stomach, and had refused to let go until the sound of voices approaching up the street had eventually torn them apart.

Whether it’s because she doesn’t want to push or because she’s afraid of the answer, Vanessa isn’t sure, but she’s glad that Charity isn’t trying to force an explanation out of her.

But she doesn’t want to leave Charity stewing over her own thoughts, probably running over every scenario she can in the back of her head, blaming herself, wondering if she did something wrong. So, Vanessa tightens her grip on her crutch and hobbles a few paces as fast as she can so that she falls into step with Charity and reaches for her hand.

“I had a nightmare last night.” Vanessa keeps her eyes zoned in on the small farm house in the distance, the sun casting it in a burnt orange glow. Charity’s long strides stutter at the sudden interruption and her head spins around towards Vanessa. She watches as that wound-up tension releases with a rush of breath before it immediately coils up tightly again, dippy Charity’s brow into an etching frown.

“Bails?” Charity whispers as though the name itself has become cursed somehow. _Maybe it has_, Vanessa thinks malevolently, as she feels her heckles rising suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

Charity tightens her grip on Vanessa’s hand subconsciously, like she knows the effect the name has on her.

Vanessa shakes her head, “think it was at first,” she mutters, refusing to let her eyes leave Irene’s old house, “but then it was Kim.”

“Ness,” Charity sighs out gently, but there’s something to her tone that has Vanessa bristling defensively, “you can’t let this stuff get to you like that, you don’t have to worry about Kim flippin’ Tate.”

Vanessa snatches her hand from Charity’s and stops dead in her tracks, glaring up at her as though she’s just been slapped square across her face. “Do you think I want to think about it?” She snaps bitterly, tongue stinging with the force her words spit from her mouth. “I don’t like watching them ki- I don’t want them in my head, Charity.”

“I didn’t mean it like th-”

“I’m not worried about _Kim_.” Vanessa steps out of Charity’s reach, trudging down the gentle slope of the hill instead. If she walks away, doesn’t let her own eyes meet Charity’s, she won’t say something she might regret after she’s calmed down. “I can’t help what pops into my head when I’m asleep.”

“I know.” Charity’s voice comes slightly panicked from a few feet behind her, but she closes the distance with little to no effort at all and catches Vanessa’s hand in her own again. The contact immediately has Vanessa settling, her defences dropping, because Charity has this way with Vanessa, an effortless ease about her that melts at the ice that seems to have become a constant within her veins. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made it sound like I was blaming you; I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” Vanessa relents. “I’m just tired and stroppy.”

“Did you get back to sleep?”

“No,” Vanessa allows her eyes a moment to drift closed, feeling the exhaustion in the heaviness of her eyelids, but flashes of Kim stood behind Charity, pierce the quiet in her head, and she snaps them back open. “I didn’t want to wake you up, before you start on at me again.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Charity huffs indignantly.

“‘Course not.” Vanessa musters up a teasing tone, flashing a brief smile that she knows doesn’t reach her eyes.

Rolling her eyes, Charity reaches out for Vanessa, and this time she doesn’t pull away. She lets Charity tug her close, stopping in the middle of the path and sinks into the embrace. “You want to talk about it?” The words are uttered into the side of Vanessa’s head, and the vibrations against her temple has her eyes fluttering closed. This time without bursts of fading dreams.

“Inside.” She juts her chin towards the house and Charity nods, pulling away after a long moment.

With the light fading, sun beginning to set behind the mountains beyond the valley, neither Vanessa nor Charity register the poster nailed haphazardly to the front door of Irene’s farm house, until they’re less than a few steps away.

Charity spots it first, pulling Vanessa back like it’ll burn her if she gets too close and her eyes squint the same way they had done down in the market, assessing their surroundings cautiously.

“What’s that?” Vanessa pulls her hand free and drops the crutch obliviously down to the ground, hearing it clatter somewhere in the back of her mind, as she limps over to the door.

She’s seen plenty of wanted posters in her life to recognise this for what it is before she’s even close enough to read the writing in the dull light. Vanessa feels her heart slow to an alarming rate when a fresh bout of anger begins bubbling in her stomach.

There were posters just like this littered around Tortuga on her last visit, and while she hadn’t spent enough time then to really take in the sight, she remembers seeing Charity’s face plastered across the front of them. But now, it’s not just Charity who’s staring up at her from the yellowing and weathered paper, her face, albeit contorted by the artist’s drawing, frowns back at her.

Vanessa would laugh at how dishevelled they both look on the poster, the epitome of evil, is how she’d put it if she wasn’t so frustrated at finding one hammered into the door of somewhere so personal to the both of them.

“Hmm.” Charity lets out a high-pitched sound, one that sounds almost proud when she comes to stop beside Vanessa with her arms crossed arrogantly over her chest. “_‘Wanted: Dead or Alive,’_” she reads aloud, giving Vanessa’s hip a playful bump, “never had that one before, usually they want me hanging, did have a firing squad once, though…”

Vanessa scoffs, snapping her hand up to the poster to tear it from the buckled and rusted nails that hold it in place.

“That’s a hefty bounty we got, mind you,” Charity muses, taking the poster from Vanessa’s hand, crumpling it into a ball before tossing it blindly over her shoulder, “must make a good team.”

“You think?” Vanessa lets the strange sense of satisfaction replace the anger. “That how they see us?” She asks, following Charity through the door and kicks off one boot and ducks down to gingerly pull off the other. “The both of us together, I mean?” Vanessa nudges her discarded boots into the corner and moves into the small kitchen, lighting one of the gas lamps on the table.

“Must do,” Charity gives a half shrug, setting the bread and wine down beside Vanessa, “after that whole fiasco in Port Royal. An’ I mean, we are married, love. Word spreads fast.”

“Yeah, but they already knew about you.” She doesn’t waste a moment in laying out their food across the table and breaking the bread in half, swiping up the crumbs that fall to the table, scooping them into her palm and tossing them into the fireplace. “Not me.”

“They definitely know about you now.” Charity sounds delighted by the fact, grinning when she corks the wine and takes a swig straight from the bottle. “I wonder what they’re calling you.”

“Stupid, probably.”

“Don’t be daft.” Charity slides the bottle over to Vanessa. “Remind me to find out while we’re here.”

“What’s wrong with Captain Dingle?”

“Bit boring, init?”

Vanessa can only roll her eyes in response, quietly tucking into their poor excuse of a meal in the rare occasion that only silence surrounds them. When they finish up, Charity cleans up the mess of crumbs and straightens out the chairs, despite the fact that the home is no longer occupied, and gestures for Vanessa to sit in the single chair beside the basket off wool on the floor.

“We could take that with us,” Vanessa points at the knitting supplies, “I’m sure Irene would be pleased to have them back.”

Charity mutters an agreement under her breath and plonks herself down in the chair, patting her lap for Vanessa to make herself comfortable. She could easily have dragged one of the rickety old chairs over from the table, but Vanessa can’t deny the fact that Charity looks far more appealing than back pain.

“So,” Charity starts, wrapping her arms around Vanessa’s middle and placing the bottle between their bodies. It’ll go warm, but Vanessa doesn’t mind. “You gonna tell me about this dream?”

Vanessa grunts, shifting in Charity’s lap to save herself for a moment before she relents. She’s a full head taller than Charity from here, so Vanessa drops her cheek to Charity’s temple and lets her eyes close cautiously, willing the memories of the dream to stay at the edge of her consciousness, close enough to recall, but far enough away that they won’t completely overtake her thoughts. “It was our wedding-”

“That was a good day.” Charity nods, and Vanessa feels her smile against her shoulder.

Vanessa purrs out a quiet laugh, “I like getting that dream, helps me sleep.”

“Bet it does.” Charity cuts in again.

Vanessa swats at her shoulder, “stop interrupting me, or I won’t tell you.” Chuckling, Charity holds her hands up defensively and makes a motion for Vanessa to go on. “I can feel you next to me, y’know, when I’m sleeping. I s’pose you must have moved away or something, ‘cause I could feel the cold and usually it would be Bails, it probably was him at first,” Vanessa rubs at her face tiredly, eyes still closed, “but after everything with the map and tha’, I think Kim was on my mind-”

“I’ll chose to ignore that part.”

“_Charity_.”

“Sorry, go on.”

Vanessa feels her lips turn up at the edges, and the heaviness that has been weighing her down all day begins to lift. “I was walking to you, but it was like my feet wouldn’t move properly and then she was there.” She doesn’t want to say any more than that, however, it would do neither of them any good to finish off the novel her mind has decided to write within her own subconscious. Vanessa finishes with a weak shrug, slumping down against Charity’s front so her legs can dangle over the arm of the chair, her head falling to Charity’s chest. Vanessa places her hand, shaking slightly, against Charity’s stomach and leaves it there to feel the warmth and the gentle rise and fall with each breath.

“Well,” Charity wraps her arms more securely around Vanessa, “doesn’t sound that exciting if I’m being honest, love.”

The teasing helps, makes Vanessa feel normal, like she’s not going mad. “You want to hear about the others?”

“If you want me to listen, I will.”

-

“You really just slept with me, when I look like _this_?” Vanessa grumbles disbelievingly, staring at her reflection in the grimy mirror of Charity’s old bedroom in the back corner of Irene’s farmhouse. One side of her face is swollen and purple, ballooning out from her skull in unnatural lumps. There’s a healing gash above her eyebrow and a fresh cut on her nose that’s still tender when she reaches up to press the tips of her fingers to it. It’s not attractive in the slightest, but Vanessa turns to find Charity, wrapped in a thin sheet that doesn’t go past her belly button, with a glowing grin, beaming up at her with dark eyes and sex mused hair.

“Still beautiful, even if you do look like you’ve been in a fist fight with Cain.” She drops the sheets, climbing to her feet to round the bed and comes to stand behind Vanessa. “It’ll heal.” Charity states simply and squeezes Vanessa’s bare hips affectionately.

Vanessa leans back into the gentle warmth that emanates from Charity’s body in waves, pulling her arms to wrap them around her stomach and finds a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when Charity’s fingers automatically move to trace the ragged scar on her hip. “The bruising might, but I’ve seen blokes left with big ol’ lumps on their faces for months after.”

“You’ll be fine.” Charity drops her lips to the slope of Vanessa’s shoulder and kisses her skin softly.

Vanessa lets out a low hum in the back of her throat, feeling her eyes flutter closed of their own accord and she rolls back against Charity’s chest. “Hope so.” She whispers, lacing her fingers through Charity’s, “you wanting to write to the kids? I was going to send one to Tracy, too.”

“Not right now,” Charity trails her lips up the column of Vanessa’s neck, not stopping until she reaches the shell of her ear, “later, down at the Tavern.”

“It’s already dark,” Vanessa says, smirking, “we’re late.”

“They’ll wait for us.”

But it’s only five minutes later, with Charity grumbling as she tucks in her shirt and shrugs on her coat, that they leave Irene’s. Vanessa smirks at the sight, because she can’t help but find the picture of frustration completely adorable and more than amusing when Charity trudges across the grass to join her on the path.

Charity glares but doesn’t say anything when Vanessa wordlessly hands her the oil lamp to guide their way back down to the town. Vanessa finds the smirk on her lips easily slipping into a gentle smile when Charity wraps a secure arm around her waist, taking most of her weight instead of the crutch that’s beginning the rub irritably against her arm.

In the end, it’s easier without it, leaning on Charity’s side while they walk in a warm, comfortable silence, unlike their trek up through the valley a few hours before. Except, when they reach the top of the hill, the view of the harbour lit up below with bulbs of orange flames, Vanessa feels a sense of dread settle in her stomach.

There’s no noise of revellers or fighting that would usually carry up through the still air to where they’re stood, but it’s not that, that has Vanessa gripping Charity’s shoulder that little bit tighter. “Do you think he’ll want to see me?”

Charity turns with a confused furrow of her brow, “who?”

“My dad.” Vanessa’s lips thin into a hard line.

“Oh,” Charity steps away from Vanessa slightly so that she can meet her eyes, “I think he’ll be _pleasantly _surprised.”

It’s a joke scantly masking an insult, but it does the job in bringing the smile back to Vanessa’s face. “You’ll behave, won’t you?” 

Scoffing, Charity pulls Vanessa back into her side, “when do I ever?”

-

It’s strangely cool inside the tavern, even with the wood burner that’s set off to the left of the wide open – _empty_ – room. That’s the first thing that Vanessa notices when the door slams shut behind Charity and her, with a dull thud that resounds from the rotting wood, how vacant the tavern actually is, the long tables are empty with the odd flagon of warm beer left forgotten, and the room itself is left oddly silent except for the sound of the barmaid wiping down the dirty glasses that seem to be stained permanently with grime.

“Amy.” Charity gives a curt, yet informal, nod of her head as she takes a step forward, “anyone ‘ere yet?”

The barmaid, Amy, gives Charity a cautious stare over the top of one of her glasses, something stiff and stilted in the way she watches them cross the room, “jus’ your Cain.” She mutters, and Vanessa thinks that’s all that’s going to be said until Amy slams the glass down, hard, against the bar top, apparently irritated by their mere presence in her tavern. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Charity makes a noise in the back of her throat, leaving Vanessa hovering by the door in favour of walking around the bar like she owns the spot. “Why’s that?” She snatches up two bottles of rum and shoots Amy a defiant glare, daring her to protest.

Whether it’s out of annoyance or something more restrained, Amy doesn’t try to argue when Charity takes a pointed swig, raising her eyebrow challengingly. “Your lot brought enough trouble the las-” she pauses abruptly when her eyes land on Vanessa, seemingly only just noticing her now, “ah, so this is her then, the one that they were all shouting ‘bout?”

“Who was shouting?” Vanessa manages to keep her tone even and calm, eyeing Amy with a mixture of distrust and agitated amusement.

“Them bastard Red Coats, init.” Amy cocks her hip against the bar. “Came in here couple years ago and started scaring off all my punters, din’t they.”

“That wasn’t my fault.” Vanessa grunts, leaning on her crutch so she can hobble towards Charity. She’s not sure if she likes this woman. Amy seems far too comfortable to be throwing accusations Charity’s way without worrying about the repercussions, anyone else would have had the blade of Charity’s sword through their gut by now.

Amy gives a dismissive wave of her hand, “they were after the two of you, though, weren’t they?”

“That why this place is dead now?” Charity cuts in before Vanessa can snap out something defensive that she’ll likely regret later.

Amy scoffs and turns back to her cleaning. “Fuck knows, somethin’ to do with that Tate woman, though.”

“How’d you mean?” Charity asks, hoisting herself up onto a stool, forgetting about Cain in the back room. “‘Cause she was working with Bails?”

Rolling her eyes, Amy finally gives up on the cleaning and takes one of the bottles from Charity, pouring it out into three glasses unevenly, favouring her own over Charity and Vanessa’s. “You know her better than most, when has she ever worked _with_ someone?” Amy downs her glass in one, doesn’t even grimace when she gulps the rum with ease. “Nah, she was using him.”

“Using him how?” It’s Vanessa that speaks, climbing up onto her own stool and swirling the murky amber liquid around the bottom of her glass with no intent to drink it.

“For the money, power, bit of popularity, I don’t know.” Amy gives a half-hearted shrug and leans across the bar, directing her attention to Vanessa, “but I do know she isn’t happy that you got in the way of whatever it is she had planned.”

Kim Tate hadn’t even been a cog in the works, a stepping stone within the grand scheme of things, not on their end anyway. She’d been a moment within a second during a failed rescue plan and Vanessa had barely even clapped eyes on her before it was over. “She’s in charge here, right?”

“Likes to think she is.” Amy nods, downing another glassful. “An’ took that anger out on every one of us, she did. Raised taxes, started policing the whole island.” She grunts disapprovingly at the very notion that an island such as this would have to undergo something like that, “people started getting sick of it, started leaving when fighting back didn’t work. _Christ_, it’s not bloody _Nassau_.”

“What did she have planned?” Charity asks, snatching the bottle from Amy’s reach before she can pour herself another.

“Dunno.” Amy frowns, “don’t want to ask, an’ no one wants to tell.” She goes back to wiping down the bar top, bringing an end to the conversation, “better that way.” She adds pointedly.

Charity gives a thoughtful hum and steps down off her stool. “Thanks for the rum.” She says, holding a hand out for Vanessa to take and Amy gives another dismissive wave of her hand.

Vanessa hops down onto her good foot first, “nice to meet you.” She says, not entirely sure if she means it or not.

“The usual, I s’pose?” Amy calls after them, while Charity guides Vanessa through a door below the stairs that leads up to the balcony where Cain had thrown a man over the last time they were in here.

“Not sure it’ll be needed, but we’re expecting some visitors.” The door closes behind them and Cain glances up over the top of his own bottle, a glass sitting empty beside him. The room that Vanessa finds herself in is just a smaller version of the one beyond the door, the wood burner that’s set into the wall is mirrored this side, too, the wall’s not completely solid and she can see the legs of the empty tables in the tavern on the other side. The roof is set at a slant, and the stilts of the staircase that leads up above, prod through the thin plaster of the ceiling.

“You’re late.”

“So is everyone else.” Vanessa plonks herself down beside him, Charity taking the seat on her other side and kicks her legs up on the table.

“Hm.” Cain slides Vanessa his unused glass and tips his bottle so the rum splashes against the sides, barely a mouths worth landing in the bottom.

Vanessa gives him a once over, nose turning up at the sight of his dishevelled state. “How long you been here?”

Cain doesn’t try to hide the way his head lolls to the left, eyes rolling in their sockets in his attempt to give Vanessa and Charity his full attention. “Since we left the ship.”

“Nice one.” Charity grunts but doesn’t seem all that fussed by his state. Instead, she pulls out some crumpled sheets of paper from her coat pocket and straightens them out on top of the table, passing one to Vanessa. “Got a pencil on you?”

She’s got three.

Vanessa isn’t entirely sure why.

She hands one over to Charity and watches as she begins scribbling away almost immediately. “Watch your language.”

Charity shoots Vanessa a teasing grin through the curtain of short blonde hair that’s drooped across her face, head bowed in concentration, “they can’t read, Ness.”

The rest of the crew begin to trickle in to the tavern over the space of the next hour or so, all in varying states of intoxication but none quite reaching Cain’s standards. Paddy, Marlon, Aaron and Jimmy join them in the back room while the rest of the crew of the Merciless and the Queen Anne fill the rest of the tavern. Noah slinks in a few minutes later with Billy and he sinks into the chair beside Charity with Robert following shortly after. Neither woman questions the latter’s presence, resigned to the fact that he seems to be joined at Aaron’s hip, and neither question him on his absence earlier that day.

“Anything?” Charity asks, not looking up from her paper until she finishes a scribbled sentence, signing it, and folds it in half.

Noah gives a quick shake of his head, “nothing, absolutely nothing at all.”

Charity plucks up the candle beside her and pours the melted wax over the edges of her paper and presses her ring to the liquid, sealing the paper before doing the same with Vanessa’s. “Noticed a lot of that today.”

“Something to be worried about, d’you think?” He pours himself a small glass of rum and Vanessa notices the way his nose turns up in displeasure at the taste. He’s still a boy, beneath the hat he’s got plonked on his head and the patchy stubble on his chin.

“We’re not hanging about.” Vanessa says, “we’ll be off first thing tomorrow.”

Noah nods and goes to lift his glass to his lips before managing to hide his subtle grimace at the smell, sliding it towards Cain instead and grabs the warm jug of beer from Paddy’s hand.

“How’s she holding up?” Charity asks over the lip of the bottle.

“Untouched.” He states proudly, “not a scratch on her.”

Charity rolls her eyes, “so that hole in the hull I saw this morning is nothing?”

Noah bristles at the accusation. “We’ll have it fixed by morning.”

“Best hope you do.” Charity warns, “I didn’t give that ship to you just to have it sink in front of my own eyes.”

“Got Matty an’ a few others working on it now.”

“That doesn’t fill me with hope, kid.”

“Oi.” Vanessa butts in before they can start bickering, “give it a rest, eh.”

They both have the decency to look mildly embarrassed, ducking their heads in unison and Vanessa can’t help but smile at the way they both jut out their bottom lips and their noses crinkle in the same way.

But before she can say anything to cut off their excuses, there’s a distinct flicker of light from the wood burner as Amy throws more logs into the flames, sliding the steel door back and forth in an obvious indication that draws Charity’s attention away from their letters.

The edge of Charity’s left eye gives a telling twitch. “Someone’s here.”


	6. The Governor's Secret

_“Someone’s here.” _

Vanessa catches Amy’s eye through the gap in the wall that surrounds the furnace, there’s something dancing there in the blue of her eyes, illuminated by orange flames, that wasn’t there before. That cocky arrogance has gone and is replaced by a palpable air of fear.

Whoever it is, whoever’s on the other side of that door, it warrants Vanessa reaching down to the hilt of her sword with one hand and the butt of her musket with the other, eyes not leaving the door even to blink.

The room falls silent all of a sudden, the men catching on to Charity’s appearance, and they follow in Vanessa’s footsteps, subtly reaching down to the weapons strapped to their hips.

“Now, I don’t want any trouble!” Vanessa hears Amy call in the same instance that the door to the room swings open. “I’ve only just mended that hole in my roof!”

It clatters sharply against the wall behind it, making Vanessa flinch at the force used.

She’s expecting a gang of men to come barging in with the commotion that’s erupting in the other room, someone raring for a fight, ready to challenge the infamous Widow, or her dad under the assumption he’s here to meet Captain Cairn.

What she doesn’t expect is Kim Tate herself, her crony of a side kick and a younger man she doesn’t recognise, to step into the room, heads towering above everyone else as though they’ve been invited along for tea.

The crew fall silent for the briefest of moments, stewing in the frost that settles across the room, before Cain throws his chair backwards in his haste to stand, drawing his sword and shoving Vanessa out of the way in what she’s guessing is supposed to be a defensive motion, but only sends Vanessa and himself barrelling into the edge of the table.

The force shifts her to her left at an angle, ribs slamming hard into wood, and she catches a glimpse of Noah on Charity’s other side, looking pale and alarmed by the sight before him. Something heavy and uneasy settles in her gut, ignites something fierce in her chest. Something protective, like a wild animal lunging at the walls of a cage.

Kim sneers, nose turning up at the sight, and she wordlessly pulls out a chair opposite Charity and Vanessa. Graham and the other man step behind her, flanking her sides and despite their harmless appearances, the scene somehow feels threatening. Graham blinks slowly but it’s obvious to Vanessa, that his vision expands across the room, scoping out the crew that are on high alert in front of them.

While Vanessa had only ever glimpsed Kim Tate the once, it was enough to have the image of the woman ingrained in her memory.

Back then, however, she hadn’t looked so old, so weathered, and she certainly didn’t have an eye patch covering her right eye where an obvious scar protrudes from the edges.

“Sit down,” Charity barks through a hiss, Cain doing as he’s told after a moment of hesitation but doesn’t put away his sword, choosing to lay it across the top of the table instead. “_Kim_.”

“Charity Dingle.” Kim sing songs her name, but it doesn’t sound cheerful. Vanessa feels goose bumps erupt up her arms, skin crawling with cold at the obvious threat that laces Kim’s words. “I thought Graham and Joseph here, were going mad when they informed me that the infamous crew of the Merciless had docked in _my _harbour.” She snarls, “‘how ridiculous,’ I said, ‘she wouldn’t dare show her face ‘round here.’” Kim makes a show of playing with one of the many rings that shine on her fingers, but she doesn’t tear her eye away from Charity’s, “but clearly, and I don’t admit this lightly, I was wrong.”

“Nothin’ up with admitting that once in a while.” Charity states, her voice hard and even, an edge of warning hovering somewhere in the air between them. Vanessa hasn’t heard Charity use this tone in a long time, only catching it on the rare occasion she’d come face to face with someone who dared threaten her. It’s a startling contrast to what Vanessa’s grown used to over the past two years, a reminder that before Vanessa, Charity was the most ruthless pirate of their time. “Being wrong looks good on you, Kim – well, from where I’m sitting anyroad.”

Vanessa tries not to wince at Charity’s goading, because the edge of Kim’s good eye twitches like she’s falling for it, biting on with a powerful jaw to the bait that Charity’s plainly dangling in front of her. With a long, steadying breath, though, Kim straightens in her seat and her features harden into a callous expression, “you shouldn’t have come back here.”

“Why’s that?” Charity shoots back quickly, and Vanessa finds her eyes flickering between the two women at a dizzying pace. “Not worried I’ll ruin anymore of your plans, are you?”

Kim scoffs, “not you, no.” Her eye leaves Charity’s for the first time since entering the room and falls disdainfully upon Vanessa.

Her throat constricts almost painfully, the glare falling on her with enough wickedness and malice that Vanessa can feel a ghost of a hand wrapping around her windpipe. She gulps but holds Kim’s eye, silently refusing to crumble beneath the weight of it. Vanessa’s come face to face with a lot worse than Kim flippin’ Tate, and she’ll be damned if she lets her façade break now.

“Keep that good eye on me, Kim.” Charity bites protectively, her hand reaching out to grip Vanessa’s thigh beneath the table. “Not her.”

It’s not the right time to let the stiffening feeling at the back of her neck rear its ugly head in the form of that dark, sinking irritation, to let it mix with the anger already bubbling beneath the surface of her skin, but she manages to shrug out of Charity’s hold with a subtle nudge of her leg. Vanessa knows Charity doesn’t mean anything by her words, or her actions for that matter, but with the cold stinging through her veins and the tension running high in the room, she doesn’t like being backed into her shell, not when she knows she doesn’t need that sort of protection anymore. Surely, Vanessa has shown that by now, nightmares be damned.

“This is Vanessa, I assume?” Kim’s lip curls up like she’s ready to pounce.

“My wife.” Charity doesn’t show any signs of rejection as she speaks, her hand dangling aimlessly between their chairs. Kim’s split eyebrow above her patch rises with interest.

“And Captain.” Vanessa interjects hotly, but she doesn’t make to add any more information to that statement, reaching for the glass of rum and knocking it back in one. Kim doesn’t seem aware that the tavern is comprised of two crews, and Vanessa aims to keep it that way with the Queen Anne safely hidden at the edge of the harbour away from Graham and Joseph’s prying eyes.

“Ah, I remember your face,” Kim starts, humming almost thoughtfully and Vanessa can swear she sees that hard eye soften in a cold sort of way, “I hear they’re calling you the…” she trails off, turning to Graham, “Princess of the Seven, was it?”

Graham nods and grumbles a drawled out, “apparently so.” 

Vanessa catches the corner of Charity’s lip turning up into an amused smile. With that hanging question between them from their conversation earlier that evening being answered, something warm and comforting extinguishes those ugly feelings that Vanessa has somehow grown accustomed to living with, and she feels her annoyance fade to a quiet whisper in the back of her mind. She reaches down for Charity’s hand and pulls it back into her lap, giving it a reassuring stroke of her thumb that Charity returns with a squeeze.

“Not sure how accurate that is, however,” Kim continues on in that somehow fitting air of importance, oblivious to the exchange going on beneath the table, “asked some of my friends over in the East India’s a few months back, and they don’t seem to know who you are…”

Vanessa only smirks, pouring herself another glass while holding Kim’s inquisitive one-eyed glare in a silent refusal to give her any sort of explanation. So what, if she thinks the ‘Seven’ is a referral to the sea’s that surround the continents and not the small crew she captained to save Tracy. Vanessa quite likes the idea of knowing something that Kim Tate doesn’t. And knowing that ‘The Seven’ are the reason Kim no longer has an ally within the British Navy, is a bitter sweet victory for the moment.

“Maybe you don’t know the right people.” Vanessa muses, lifting her musket up onto the table in what she hopes is a successful threat rather than a failed attempt at showing who really has the upper hand in the room. Because while Kim is clearly outnumbered in here, there’s something about the woman that has Vanessa feeling the exact opposite, like Kim’s already ten steps ahead of them.

“Maybe so,” Kim hums, her eye hardening again when they flash down to the gun and back up to Vanessa. “Why are you here?” The accusing tone brings the room back to the previous conversation. Vanessa’s glad that Robert’s uneasy shifting seems to be going ignored.

“Stocking up.” Charity states simply, giving a dismissive shrug of her shoulder. “Not a problem is it?”

Kim keeps her features void of any emotion and ignores Charity’s question. “You know, Charity,” she starts, lifting a gleaming, clean knife up onto the table that has the room startling into defensive stances, Charity and Vanessa included, “you’ve been a plague upon my life for as long as I can remember-”

“An’ that’s a really, _really_ long life.”

She ignores Charity again, continuing as though she’s not been interrupted, “I think I’m going to enjoy killing you and your little family.”

Vanessa cocks the flint on her musket, Cain stands and glares down at Graham, Noah draws his own sword and lifts it towards Joseph, and Charity… crosses her arms over her chest and kicks her feet back up onto the table. “Say I give you the opportunity,” She says cockily, lips pursing together in feigned thoughtfulness, “how you gonna do that? You’ve got one eye, you’re past your best, an’ last I heard, you lost your last link to anyone powerful when our Noah here killed Bails.”

It’s the first time Kim draws her attention away from the two women at the head of the table. “I didn’t recognise the boy,” Kim drawls, eyeing Noah as though she’s seeing him for the first time, “thought he would have looked more like our Joe.” She tilts her knife towards the other man, the one Vanessa doesn’t recognise, but the attention brought to him and Noah, has realisation dawning on her like a ghostly breath of air. That’s Noah’s brother, there’s no doubt about it, even if Noah does look strikingly similar to Charity, there’s pieces of him in Joe, too.

“He’s a Tate, cowards and fools.” Charity growls, “Noah isn’t anything like Chris, worst of the lot of you, he was.”

Prickling at Charity’s words, Kim stands abruptly, points the tip of her knife directly between Charity’s eyes and scowls. “I should have killed you that day Christopher brought you home.” Her words pour from her lips like a sickly thick venom, poisoning the room with a deftly ease. “Always knew you were going to be the death of him. That, I wasn’t wrong about; some little tart off the streets that no one could lo-”

Vanessa presses her finger to the trigger aiming straight at Kim’s heartless chest as she growls, “get out,” through gritted teeth.

“You made a mistake thinking it’d be safe for you here.” A shrill and unnatural laugh fills the room at that, and Kim rolls her shoulders back in challenge. “You’ll be dead by morning. The lot of you.”

“I said,” Vanessa’s jaw clenches, her back teeth grinding together audibly, “_get, out_.”

Kim retreats towards the door with Graham and Joe flanking her protectively, “I’ll enjoy watching it happen.”

“Kim,” Graham leans into her ear, his concern carrying across the table just as the door to the room opens again and Vanessa’s heart stop in her chest.

“I said not to interrupt.” Kim snaps, whirling around on Frank, the skirt of her dress wafting a cool breeze over Vanessa. “What do you want?”

Frank, at first glance, doesn’t seem to recognise Vanessa with her face bloated, bruised and her hat shadowing her features, but when his eyes do a double take, realisation dawns in the form of a barely notable quirk of his mouth.

Vanessa turns her gaze away, locking it onto Kim. Whatever is going on here, and for the life of her, Vanessa can’t work out what that is, she can’t slip up and let on that there’s any link between Frank and her, or the woman, she notices with a swift scan of her eyes, by his side.

“I hired you and that crew of yours to sail my ship, not to stand like a fool staring at women.” Kim barks again, taking a threatening step towards Frank like she’s about to beat some sense into him.

“Sorry,” he stutters quickly, and Vanessa feels his eyes leave her, “the crew are starting to get restless.”

The back of her neck is prickling hotly with Rhona and Frank still chancing long glances at her, piquing her agitation because if they doesn’t stop, there’ll be no hope of them completing their mission, no hope of doing this without letting on to Kim that they know. Thankfully, Kim’s back is to Vanessa, so she doesn’t click on when Vanessa risks a hesitant glance up towards the two newcomers in the doorway. She claps eyes with Rhona and something heavy and longing settles deep in her gut.

She looks exactly as she remembers her, a bit rugged around the edges but still the best friend she had way back before Port Royal had crept into her life.

‘Look away.’ She mouths, snarling out the warning, and Rhona does, snapping her head back, alarmed, to face Kim. Rhona nods along to whatever Kim is telling them through a hushed whisper.

An eruption of noise breaks out from the bar before Vanessa can tune her ears, however. A table clatters and shouts and screams quickly follow. With the interruption, their visitors sprint from the room in a race to get away from the crew of the Queen Anne, outnumbered and backed into a corner. The door slams shut behind them, muffling the fighting from the bar.

“Jesus.” Charity clambers to her feet, her eyes searching the room and land on Cain like she’s trying to make sure he’s not the cause of the commotion beyond the door. “On me!” She calls with that air of authority that never fails to have Vanessa’s knees going weak regardless of whatever mood she’s in.

The crew draw their swords, flanking Charity as she boots a hard kick into the door, probably a little bit unnecessarily, hauling the heavy wood from its hinges and sending it soaring across the tavern. It clatters somewhere near David and Sam, and for a brief, barely even a moment, the room falls silent.

There are men that Vanessa doesn’t recognise, all circling Kim and Joe protectively, and it doesn’t take Vanessa long to work out that they must belong to her crew, if the way she’s barking out orders left, right and centre is anything to go off. Except, it’s not Kim, that Vanessa finds her eyes drawn to, but Frank and Rhona who are stood off to the side of the room, huddled by the unused piano beside the bar, unarmed and defenceless, except for Graham, who seems intent on keeping the pair of them safe. Vanessa tumbles into Noah, her attention drawn away from her own feet, and he has to catch her before she falls to the floor.

“Who’s that?” Noah asks, following her line of sight perceptibly, “that woman with your dad?”

Vanessa bites down around the name as it spills from her lips, feeling an old wound split open with the pain of a white-hot blade cutting through her chest now that she has time to let her mind catch up. “Rhona.”

Charity whirls round right as she swings her sword at the neck of one of Kim’s crewmen, her eyes focused and hard on Vanessa, recognising the name even through the chaos unfolding around them. She’s heard the story plenty of times, had plenty to say on the matter, too. “What’s _she_ doing here?” She barks, cold and sharp.

“Dunno,” Vanessa grunts, blocking the edge of a sword from slicing at Charity’s cheek, “but they seem to be pretty close with Kim, don’t you think?”

Vanessa follows Kim’s movements for a moment, the way she easily blocks attacks from Noah’s crew, even in her state she makes it look almost as graceful as Charity, but then her good eye turns to Frank and Rhona with a familiarity that makes Vanessa uneasy, being able to see it from this angle, she smiles, nods, then ushers them behind the bar to where Amy is aiming her musket at anyone who comes too close to her, regardless of who’s captain’s their loyalties fall to.

“Dammit.” Charity swings a fist, knuckles colliding audibly with a jaw, bone cracking under the force.

“They’re working for her.” Vanessa doesn’t have time to think about the bile that rises in her throat at the realisation because she’s sent flying over a chair, landing on her backside with a thud that knocks the air straight from her lungs, leaving her breathless on the floor.

She flops to her side and gasps through the pain. Cain’s quick to help her to her feet though, even drunk, he somehow manages to hold himself steady and dusts her down. “What’s the plan, cap?”

“Get back to the Queen Anne,” Vanessa swings her sword at massive excuse of a man, catching him square in the gut and toppling him to the ground, “alive.”

Nodding, Cain presses his back to Vanessa’s, and they work their way through the anarchy. They work well together, she’s known this since the last time they were here, bouncing off of one another with a strange sort of synchronicity, assured in the knowledge that they each have the other’s back.

Charity and Noah catch on to the plan without needing to be told, rounding up the two crews as they barrel their way from the wreckage left behind. 

There’s so much going on around them, Kim and her men chasing them out into the street, that Vanessa doesn’t notice Frank and Rhona slipping out amongst them, disappearing down a side street and into complete darkness. “Get back to the ship!” Vanessa screams above the shouting, her voice carrying through an echo that bounces off the buildings.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you, _Princess_.” Kim’s words bring her crew to a holt, lowering their weapons in unison, “you’ll regret ever letting Charity Dingle anywhere near your miserable, excuse of a life.”

It’s not the insult itself that has Vanessa’s feet turning of their own accord, but something buried behind them. It’s that idea that she still knows something Kim doesn’t, knows what she’s got planned… but now, it feels like she’s another ten steps behind her. “I think we both know who has the stronger crew.”

Kim’s lips turn up in a snarl, “crew’s mean nothing, not when-”

Graham gives Kim a subtle nudge to her ribs.

“You think that little island of yours is secret?” She says instead, pointing a threatening finger directly at Charity, her one-eyed glare turning icy cold with too much resemblance to one that Vanessa still sees when she sleeps. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“You heard me!” Vanessa screams, anger and fear seeping into every word, “get to the ship, now.”

She’s left her crutch in the back room, but Charity’s arm circles her hip without needing to address the heavy limp that has her struggling to keep herself upright. Her shaking doesn’t help either. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Vanessa grits out, a burning need to sit down and catch her breath willing her to stop, “you?”

Charity manages a quick nod, but her eyes are hard, glued to the lanterns that line the steps down to the harbour. Her silent response draws a frown onto Vanessa’s brow, and she turns carefully in Charity’s arm, fighting against the protesting grip that Charity holds strong.

“Charity…” The front of her shirt’s sliced open, hanging from her abdomen that’s oozing blood down the front of her trousers. Her eyes go painfully wide, gawping at a gash above her belly button and all thoughts that linger around Kim’s words disappear from her mind.

“It’s not deep,” Charity reassures her but that doesn’t stop Vanessa reaching down to check.

“You’ll need stitches.” She does a double take over her shoulder to make sure they’re not being followed, content in the knowledge that Charity’s reassurance holds some truth to it. The wound _isn’t_ deep, and Kim Tate and her band of thugs are out of sight. 

Charity lets out a pained smirk, face contorting in discomfort, “give me some rum and somethin’ the bite down on, an’ I’ll be fine.”

“Here,” Vanessa turns to Cain, snatching a bottle from his hand that he’s somehow managed to keep safe throughout the whole ordeal, and, ignoring his protests, hands it to Charity, “start now.”

Grinning, Charity takes a swig, smacking her lips, “tastes better when you tell me to do it.”

“That makes no sense.” Vanessa grumbles but she can’t fight the smile that turns up the edges of her lips. She must be coming down from an adrenalin rush, though, because realisation dawns a second later and the smile fades. If Frank is working for Kim the way it seemed he was in the tavern, then somethings gone wrong. He’s the one who hired the Swallow to tail the Tate’s Revenge, was he not? And disgraced or not, what would a man like Frank be doing working with pirates, and with Rhona, too?

Kim knows about the island.

Their home.

“What’s this for?” Charity breaks Vanessa’s train of thought by reaching up and pressing her index finger to the crease at the bridge of her nose.

“Just thinking.” Vanessa mummers, ignoring her limp in favour of helping Charity into the rowing boat by the dock.

“You do that too much.” Charity says, emptying the bottle and tossing it into the water.

Vanessa lets out an indignant grumble and settles in beside her. “Can you blame me?”

Charity reaches out to rub soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “It’s all empty threats, love,” she says, sounding as though she believes it herself, “Kim’s just an ugly, sour-faced, old cow.”

Vanessa scowls down at her sword, wiping the mess from the blade onto her trousers before shoving it back into her belt and eases her clenched fist into a relaxed position on top of Charity’s thigh. “Didn’t sound like ‘empty threats’ to me.” She bites, lowering her voice in a failed imitation of Charity, and despite her tone, harsh and insulting, Charity lets out a chuckle, letting the words bounce off her thick skin.

“Ness,” Charity says calmly, “she’s blowing nothin’ but hot air.”

“Mum’s right,” Noah steps into the small boat, rocking it precariously under his weight as he wipes at the trickle of blood at his nose. His face is still pale and clammy but there’s a dusting of colour returning to his cheeks, “them lot use their big fancy words an’ tha’ to threaten anyone they please.” He spits, “they don’t have any good fighters, Joe was the only decent one we had and even he couldn’t tell the handle from the blade.”

Vanessa hums out a quiet noise through her nose and nods. “You okay? Seeing your brother an’ that?”

Noah steels his features with the same practiced ease as his mother. “Aye.” It’s all he offers up, however, and slumps on the bench opposite them, turning away.

Vanessa thinks she understands that, gets the distant expression that’s seeping into Noah’s features.

“Captain?” They’re still tied up at the dock, waiting for the two crews to filter down into their own boats, when Aaron comes to a stop beside them.

“Yeah?” Vanessa asks, craning her neck at an awkward angle to meet his eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, however, just turns and points to the steps that lead down into the harbour. Charity and Vanessa turn, following his outstretched finger.

“What do they want?” Charity speaks up when Vanessa can’t find her voice, eyes trained on her dad and Rhona, hovering close to one another for protection while the stragglers of Noah’s crew surround them.

“The Governor said he’s to meet with you both.”

“He’s not the Governor anymore.” Vanessa quickly interjects, “stick them in the last boat and send them over,” she instructs, feeling her jaw tighten painfully around the words, “blindfolded.”

“Blindfolded?” Charity asks curiously with an arched brow.

“Kim thinks we only have the one ship, if this is some sort of ploy, I don’t want her knowing about the Queen Anne.” It’s a good enough reason for Charity, and maybe she just likes the idea of having Frank in a vulnerable position like that, but she nods, and Aaron rushes off down the dock. “You got the map on you?” She directs her question at Noah. He gives her a confused look but taps his coat pocket with a nod. “Good, maybe don’t leave that on the Merciless tonight, yeah? Not til’ we leave, anyway.” She eyes the ship in question wearily, “god knows what she’s got planned.”

-

The room is silent except for the occasional shriek of pain that reverberates off the walls.

Vanessa skilfully winds the needle through broken skin, watching the thin thread knit the wound back together. “Stop screaming.” She grunts as another wail of pain fills the captain’s quarters.

“I can’t help it, it really hurts.”

She keeps working, Charity laying surprisingly still throughout, but as Vanessa makes to sink the needle for one final loop, another scream rings through her ears. “For the love of god, Paddy, would you shut up?”

Close to tears, Paddy lets out a sigh of relief when Charity releases the death grip she’s had on his hand while Vanessa’s been stitching her up. “If you’d ‘ave gotten here sooner, you could have done this instead.” Vanessa quips with a smirk and moves over to the bowl of warm water to rinse off her hands.

“I was checking up on Liam.” Paddy shoots back with an offended squeak.

Vanessa rolls her eyes, but turns back to Paddy, “what’s he done now?”

“N-nothing,” Paddy stutters, “just a bump.”

“Right well, if that’s all,” Vanessa slumps herself down onto the bed beside Charity just as she’s beginning to button up her clean shirt, “let them in.”

With that, Paddy gives a brief nod and climbs the steps back up to the deck.

“That was my favourite.” Charity grumbles with a pout and kicks her bloody and torn shirt off the edge of the bed. She’s worked her way through nearly two full bottles of rum in the past half an hour and the effects are beginning to take hold. Her tongue sounds too big for her mouth, swollen and unable to form clear syllables and when she turns to smile up at Vanessa, Charity’s eyes glaze over and begin to droop.

“You should get some sleep,” Vanessa chuckles and presses a gentle to kiss to her temple, inhaling the familiar smoky scent despite the fact that she hasn’t seen Charity with her pipe all day.

She smiles when Charity leans further into the contact and tosses a heavy arm over her waist, “nah, I’ll be alright, love,” she slurs slightly, “want to hear what those two have to say for themselves, anyway. Make them walk the plank if they piss me off.”

“Thought pirates didn’t do that?” She can hear heavy footsteps above, the sound of feet landing on the deck and making their way towards the door beneath the helm, accompanied by rising voices from her crew.

Charity gives a messy shrug and swings her legs over the side of the bed, swaying when she stands.

Vanessa feels the trail end of panic leaving her muscles when Charity gingerly makes her way over to the table without so much as a wince. She hadn’t even noticed its presence in the first place, too caught up in her adrenalin and trying to fight down the urge to grab Kim around the neck until her face turned blue. But now she does, and the hairs on her arms stand on end.

Vanessa lets her eyes flicker over to Charity’s slightly hunched form and gulps. Her drunken state and the bloody shirt rumpled up on the floor is a reminder that the events of the evening could have been far worse than they were. The bounty on their heads, dead or alive, is a tempting enough offer for even the least skilled of people to try their luck, but Kim Tate had sat in front of them, had had them running from the tavern, and yet, here they are, alive and relatively unharmed.

It doesn’t make sense to her, if Kim is so intent on getting rid of them and regaining that status she’d built with Bails, then why hadn’t she just had them killed there and then?

She’s prevented from falling down that particular rabbit hole when a hesitant knock sounds from the door at the top of the stairs. “Come in,” she calls, making her way over to the desk where the maps and Frank’s letter have been left, Noah handing them over once they’d boarded the Queen Anne.

Vanessa sets the papers down on the table, taking her seat at the head and steels her features, drawing in a long breath in the hopes that it’ll calm the hammering of her heart.

It doesn’t.

But Charity reaches across the stack of papers and laces their fingers together, keeping her grip firm.

Cain and Billy guide Frank and Rhona down the steps, the blindfolds still in place and Noah hurries in behind them. “I don’t think they’re necessary now.” She mutters, peeking up through her hair. Billy yanks the knots at the backs of the shredded fabric covering their faces and both Frank and Rhona blink hard against the light of the room.

Releasing her hand from Charity’s and folding her arms across her chest in an air of indifference that she most certainly isn’t feeling, Vanessa can only watch as the pair take in their surroundings, a mixture of confusion and awe settling in across their faces before their eyes come to land on her. They don’t say anything.

“Sit down.” Vanessa instructs, channelling her best impression of Charity.

Tentatively, Frank pulls a chair out for Rhona and then sits himself down opposite, his eyes wandering back to Charity every now and then wearily. “Teeny-”

“So, you hired Cairn to follow Kim,” Vanessa interjects before her dad can say much more, because hearing him call her that after so long, seeing him up close and alive, and well… all she wants to do is jump into his arms and let him hold her. She can smell his aftershave, and her heart tugs painfully in her chest. “But you’re her quartermaster?” Vanessa flicks through the pages of paper to keep her hands busy. It gives her the opportunity to pretend that she has the upper hand here, when really her leg is bouncing beneath the table with pent-up anxiety and burning anger and betrayal deep in her veins. “And how do you come into all of this?” She lifts her head once but avoids meeting Rhona’s eye.

“I work for Kim.” Rhona says, her voice coming calm but there’s a waver in her tone. “Have done since I left England.”

“Right.” Vanessa gives a hard nod. “Who’s going to explain to me what this is then?” She slaps down Frank’s letter in the middle of the table and slumps back into her chair, rapping her fingers against the table impatiently until Charity moves her hand sluggishly to link their fingers once again.

“How did you get that?” Frank asks, sounding far too nervous for his own good, and it reminds Vanessa of the night Charity had come to her home, how she’d put Frank on edge with just a glare.

There’s a moment of hesitation where Vanessa isn’t sure how much she should tell them. They’re working for Kim and this whole mission of Noah’s depends on her not finding out that the two crews know. But Vanessa makes the mistake of looking up, and her eyes lock with Frank’s. “You told our Noah about some treasure.” She says with a shrug of feigned indifference. “Said some disgraced Red Coat were running his mouth.”

Frank’s watching Vanessa like he doesn’t quite know who he’s sitting with, like he doesn’t recognise her but he’s trying to find the bits of her that seem familiar, something showing through the bruises on her face. There must be something that’s reassuring to him because a small smile shines through his eyes, his mouth staying in a hard line around words, “ah,” he says, “I don’t remember that.”

Vanessa lets out a noise through her nose, supressing the urge to roll her eyes, “drinking away your problems, were you?” She finds a newfound wave of confidence rushing through her veins, one that pushes her to be as blunt and as uncaring as possible. She’s never been afraid of Frank, but she’s always been respectful towards him because it’s how she was brought up to behave. It was some time around Tracy showing up, she thinks, when that loyalty started wavering, fading into something passive and callous. Charity’s arrival hadn’t been the catalyst, but it had been that last push she’d needed to break away from his hold.

“Something like that.” He says almost regretfully. “Vanessa, darling, what are you doing here?”

Vanessa purses her lips at the term of endearment. Despite the fact that Frank’s sat fidgeting in his chair, uneasy and uncomfortable, he, for some reason that Vanessa can’t quite understand, assumes he still has that hold over her, can bring her back to being the little girl he remembers. “Thought I’d just explained that?” She says with a little more bite than she means to. When Frank only offers up a furrowed brow in response, eyes flickering over to Rhona as though she has some sort of answer, Vanessa sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “You told Noah, Noah told us, we blew up the HMS Swallow, and here we are.” She punctuates her words with a chopping motion with her hand, thudding it down onto the table top. 

“Ness…” Charity says lowly, giving her a look that says ‘calm down.’

“You really don’t remember talking to me?” Noah cuts in then, taking a step away from the book case to make himself known.

Frank looks curiously up at Noah then over to Charity who, until now, hasn’t seemed all that interested in joining in with the conversation. “You’re Captain Tate’s son.” He states as a matter of fact, oblivious to the way the use of the name makes Vanessa feel sick.

Noah gives a curt nod.

“Drop the formalities, Clayton. An’ it’s Dingle, not Tate.” Charity grumbles impatiently. “Answer Vanessa.” She’s still drunk, but she seems to be more coherent now, eyes clear and some of the colour has returned to her cheeks.

“So,” Frank speaks up, watching Charity and Vanessa closely and she thinks she spots her dad’s eyes drift down to the ring on her finger, “you want the treasure?”

“No.” Vanessa gives a firm shake of her head.

“I do.” It’s Noah who answers, rounding the table to stand between Vanessa and Charity at the corner. “The letter says you were supposed to meet Cairn an’ his crew here, that’s today, in’it?” Nodding, Frank checks his own neat writing to confirm.

“You need to explain what all this is,” Vanessa says, pointing down at the map that makes little to no sense to any of them and then locks eyes with Frank, “what you’re doing working with Kim Tate and why she’s here with you.” She finally meets Rhona’s eye, spying something there that makes her uneasy when Rhona immediately turns away.

“Where do you want me to start?” Frank slumps dejectedly, knitting his fingers together on top of the table. It makes him look smaller somehow, with his cheeks and eyes sinking in on themselves, hair dishevelled and scruffy with a salt and pepper beard growing over his chin and cheeks. Vanessa doesn’t expect to feel the sadness form in her chest and a lump in her throat, but she’s never seen him look so… she’s not sure how best to describe him. Unlike himself? Un? Vagrant? They all fit.

“Assuming that you’ve got ulterior motives for being with Kim flippin’ Tate tonight, I want you to start with this.” Vanessa unfolds the map, letting the edges fall over the sides of the table and points down at the red ‘x’ upon an island shaped distantly like a seahorse, “we think we get the general idea, but how is it that Kim can find wherever this is?”

Frank, for his part, doesn’t seem all that keen to let Vanessa get caught up in whatever this is, but after a moment of silent contemplation, he sighs and nods. “You’ve read the poem?” Vanessa waves the item in question in the affirmative, “Kim can’t find it, that’s not how it works,” Frank begins cryptically, “to find this place, the only way to do so, is to happen across it by chance.”

“Surely plenty of ships have, if that’s the case,” Vanessa mutters, “crews get lost all the time, slip off course….”

Frank gives an appreciative shrug, “that’s true, but how many of those ships have a woman like Kim on board?” Frank holds his hand out expectantly, waiting for Vanessa to hand over the poem, “this says that only a person who’s done something ‘_wicked with glee_’ can find the treasure, in this case Bones is referring the treasure of a crew.”

“Wait,” Noah butts in, “the treasure is a flamin’ crew? I’ve already got-”

“Here, yes, but Bones received his crew,” Frank reassures quickly, “you remember the story I used to tell you?”

Vanessa scoffs disbelievingly, “_you_? No, that was mum.”

Frank looks slightly taken aback by the sharp abruptness of Vanessa’s tone, but he quickly recovers, “sorry.”

She ignores him, “he buried their treasure on an island, the one where he found his crew.”

“Yes,” Frank’s eyes are trained on the poem, assessing each word carefully, “a crew of lost souls.”

Charity barks out a laugh, shaking her head, “forget about the ghost stories, how is Kim gettin’ here?”

Frank hides his irritation well, but he turns to Charity with a hard gaze, “you’d do yourself a favour to be wary, _Captain_,” he grits out, leaving no room for anyone to correct him, “there’s a reason the King has me out here.”

Vanessa gawps suddenly, “you’re still working for them?”

“Do you really think I would knowingly associate myself with _pirates_?”

“Watch it.” Cain snaps, but Frank ignores him.

“The King is concerned about Kim’s… _interests_, especially after what happened with Mark. When word spread about the Tate’s finding this,” he points to the map, eyes flickering back up to Vanessa, “they stripped me of my title, all for show, of course, and sent me out here,” he explains, a slight frown creasing the edges of his eyes, “and after what happened with Mark sending me back to England, Kim believed me when I said I wanted to join her crew.”

“You sly…” Charity trails off, face twisting into an expression of pleasant surprise.

“If this is Kim’s, doesn’t she know it’s been missing for the past month?” Vanessa can’t quite believe what she’s hearing, whether it’s down to the distrust towards Frank himself or the sheer absurdity of the whole situation, she’s not sure.

Frank chuckles, “she hired me as her quartermaster; she shouts orders, I do everything else. Which involves this,” he turns back to the map, “she thinks I still have it.”

“Right so, let me get this straight,” Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose, headache forming behind her eyes and completely exhausted, “you’re technically still the Governor of Port Royal?” Frank nods, “but you’ve been sent out here by the _King _to join Kim’s crew while hiring another crew to follow her?” She turns to Charity, hoping to be told she’s wrong, that she actually is going mad, but Charity just smiles like she’s enjoying this far too much. “Why?”

“Do you know what this treasure is?” Frank asks a little disbelievingly, but when all he receives is a blank, annoyed expressions, he sighs, “Kim absolutely cannot find it.” He says gravely, eyes turning steely and his face hardens, “it’ll be the end of everything we know.”

“_Clayton_.”

“She’ll have full command of Bones’ crew.”

With the theatrics he plays on, Vanessa half expects the candles within the room to blow out with a mysterious gust of wind. The silence that follows Frank’s words is palpable, and the tension skyrockets through the roof. No one dares speak. Kim Tate is as evil as they come, Vanessa’s managed to work that out for herself after only being in her presence for little under an hour. And the thought of her getting to that treasure first, even if what Frank’s told them about this crew of dead sailor’s is nothing but a fairy tale, Vanessa doesn’t plan on letting her beat them to it, not without a fight.

It’s with that realisation, that urge to fight, that Vanessa is struck by something else, Kim’s words from the tavern ringing in her ears. _‘I think I’m going to enjoy killing you and your little family…’ _Because if she knows how to reach their island, _home_, there’d be no telling what destruction would lay in her wake.

Vanessa gulps around the hard lump in her throat. There’s no doubt whatsoever in her mind that Kim’s going to use this treasure, this crew – if there is one – to end Charity’s life, Vanessa and the kids, too. That’s what she’s got planned. Charity ruined her life when Chris died, Kim’s always blamed her for that, Vanessa scuppered whatever plans she had with Bails, and their kids are going to be collateral damage.

“How’s she going to get here?” Vanessa speaks up abruptly, voice hard and determined.

“It’s going to take a while,” Frank says, standing to move towards the navy-blue map that’s nailed up onto the wall beside the table, “she’s going to sail up through here, but after that we won’t be using maps or compasses.”

It’s easier to understand now, with Frank laying out the truth, “she has to get lost to find wherever this is, right?” Vanessa eyes the map on the table determinedly.

Frank gives an impressed nod, “in a way, yes, but she needs to know where to be, the island – I know that doesn’t make sense – but after that, she won’t be able to find the treasure once we get there, that will be down to you.”

“How do we follow her without bein’ seen?”

“That’s where we come in.” Rhona speaks for the first time, “you’ll need to be a day’s sail behind, but we’ll leave a trail for you to follow, once we get here, with the map, you’ll be able to get to the treasure first.”

“Wait,” Charity stands then, wincing when her muscles pull at the fresh stitches, “how d’we know we can trust her.” She points an accusatory finger straight between Rhona’s eyes. “It’s like she said, she’s been workin’ for Kim for years now, and she’s not exactly been all tha’ innocent, either, has she?”

“What do you mea-”

Vanessa winces when Charity lets out a harsh snarl, “Oh please, Vanessa’s told me what you did.”

The room falls silent again, Billy and Noah finding a thrill in the drama while, as usual, Cain looks bored, stabbing the blade of his knife into one of the shelves that he’s slumped against. “Charity,” Vanessa starts but she can’t find the energy to finish her protests. The room suddenly feels too hot, too clammy against her freezing skin.

“Left her when he shipped off our Johnny,” Charity scoffs, turning her nose up at Rhona, “what kind of friend does tha’, eh? And for what, to go work for a _Tate_?”

“I need some air.” Vanessa’s up the stairs and out the door before anyone can stop her.

-

The fresh air up at the helm helps, the sweat on the back of her neck turns cold and the last of her unease washes away on the breeze. But despite this, Vanessa’s body remains tense and unshifting, her hands gripping onto the rudder in a white knuckled grip. The Queen Anne isn’t in full sail, though, just sitting peacefully on the calm water, even with the storm growing ever closer on the horizon.

“Nessa… please let me explain.”

“Stop calling her that.” Vanessa hears Noah groan from somewhere behind her, but she refuses to give Rhona and Frank the satisfaction and keeps her eyes trained on the mast.

“Sorry?” Rhona asks quietly.

“It’s Vanessa or Ness,” Charity quips around a slurring tongue.

“Or Captain, if we’re getting technical.” Billy pipes up.

“Captain?” Frank sounds surprised, “I thought Charity was the captain?”

“I was, of the Merciless,” With Charity stood directly beside her, Vanessa can see her pointing out towards the other ship closer to the beach, “before I gave it to Noah.”

“We’re not on the Merciless?” Vanessa wants to tell them to stop talking, stop giving away so much information so freely, but her mouth remains in a hard, painful line. Her swollen cheek and lip stretch to keep her features remaining indifferent.

“Surprise.” Charity mutters sarcastically, and Vanessa can almost feel her eyes rolling. “This is Ness’ ship, the Queen Anne.”

“Oh,” Frank breathes from behind, “I heard about that.” To Vanessa’s surprise, he doesn’t sound disappointed or thwarted by the idea that Vanessa was part of a plan that had more than forty Red Coats killed, instead, his tone is somewhere between impressed and a little bit overwhelmed by the information.

Vanessa grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut tight. She’s waited her whole life for Frank to be proud of her, constantly bending to his beck and call, keeping her head up, back straight, talking clear, _enunciating_, smiling for the right people, curtsying for his colleagues, Christ, she could hardly even fight him when he sent Johnny away. And after all that, it’s now he chooses to let that pride seep through the gaps of his neurotic façade.

“Ness?” Noah’s voice, smooth and careful and full of care, pulls her from her thoughts and she blinks quickly to rid her mind of the fog. Hesitantly, she turns, “where do we go from here?”

There’s no question that they’re going to go ahead with this plan, she has no choice. It’s the only way to keep her kids safe.

And she’ll be damned if she loses Johnny again, or Noah and Moses, too.

But to agree, means to let Frank back into her life, Rhona as well, and that’s something she’s not entirely okay with.

“Nothing’s changed.” She says and returns Noah’s relieved smile with a tight-lipped one of her own. “Think it’s time you to were leaving, yeah?” Vanessa doesn’t look at Frank or Rhona, turning back to the rudder and is about to scream for the crew to drop the sails when a hand falls to her shoulder.

“Vanessa?” Rhona whispers, “please.”

She shouldn’t give either of them the time of day, but there’s a selfish part of her that misses her dad, even after everything he’s put her through, Tracy too, and maybe there’s a smaller part that wants to know why Rhona is back now. Vanessa wants answers, needs them if she wants to keep her head on straight for the next couple of weeks.

Turning to Charity with a heavy sigh, she clutches her hand between her own and pulls her into her chest. “Think you could give us a moment?”

Charity doesn’t look as though she wants to agree, glaring between Rhona and Frank the same way she had all those years ago back in the house on the hill, the day Vanessa had left that broken life behind. But when Vanessa gives her hand what she hopes is a reassuring squeeze, Charity’s eyes soften and drop back down to meet Vanessa’s own. There’s worry swirling around in the depths of those tropical green irises, melding through the constant and ever-present love and affection that she finds whenever Charity looks at her. “I’ll be down there. Need to find Aaron and Robert, anyroad.”

Vanessa nods and leans up on her toes to press a kiss to Charity’s cheek, smiles when Noah holds his hand to the base of her back, and watches them wander down the steps with Cain grumbling something under his breath, Billy choosing to climb the rigging instead.

That’s her family, Charity, Noah, the boys back home, even Cain, when he’s not being an arse, Tracy, Debbie, Chas, Paddy... But Frank and Rhona – that’s her past, a bad dream that’s managed to wiggle its way back into the forefront of her mind, just like Bails.

No one speaks for a long moment, and Vanessa uses the silence to move across the upper deck, backing herself into the corner so she can hoist herself up onto the railings.

“You married her?” Frank states, but there’s a question in there somewhere, gaze dropping to the ring on her finger again.

“Last year.” Vanessa rolls her ankle, feeling the pressure easing up now and there’s no shooting pain accompanying the motion. Once over, she probably would have revelled in being able to tell Frank that she’d married a woman, a pirate to make it worse, but now there’s just exhaustion and sadness in her chest, wrapping itself around her heart.

There’s a smile threatening his lips, however, “was it a big wedding?”

Vanessa fights the urge to balk at his voice, the way he almost sounds happy for her. “Not as big as you’d probably dreamed up for me, but then again, you never would have let me marry her in the first place...” she trails off to calm the anger that’s crawling into her words, “it was big enough for us, family and friends.” She adds and loops her arm through the rigging beside her.

“Trace was there?” He asks hopefully, eyes swirling with happiness that takes Vanessa aback again. “I heard about what happened.”

“Yeah, she gave me away ‘cause you weren’t there.” Vanessa quips, turning her face against the cool breeze blowing in from the storm, “she’s still there, looking after the boys.”

“She’s got kids?” Frank gasps, stepping hurriedly over to Vanessa.

“No,” she lets out a quiet chuckle, “mine an’ Charity’s.” Frank’s mouth opens and closes, bobbing up and down like a gormless fish. “Charity’s got four, Debbie, Ryan, Noah,” she waves her hand off to where the steps are, “an’ Moses, he’s the same age as Johnny.”

“_What_?”

“I found him.” She says, trying not to let that anger rise again, “well, Noah did, somewhere way east.”

“Teeny-”

“Don’t.” She warns harshly, feeling her eyes sting with hot tears. “Please, just don’t.” Frank gives a regretful nod, taking a step back. “What about you?” She snaps at Rhona, “you got anything you’d like to say?”

“Not sure words could cover it.” Rhona shrugs, but then she’s smiling unexpectedly up at Vanessa, and before she can work out what’s happening, she’s being yanked back down onto the deck and strong, but small arms are wrapping around her shoulders, squeezing tight enough to push the air from her lungs. “Will this do?”

Vanessa freezes, body going stiff, unused to the feeling of Rhona hugging her, unused to Rhona all together, actually, until her brain catches up and those tears start streaming down her cheeks and she lets out a relieved sob when her own arms wrap around her ribs. “S’pose it will.” She splutters through a wet laugh, giving Rhona a squeeze before backing away. Vanessa swipes at her cheeks and lets a weak smile crack through her irritation.

“I’ve missed you.” Rhona beams, “and I’m so unbelievably sorry about the way I left.”

“Upped sticks in the middle of the night?” Vanessa lets out a teasing jeer, “nothin’ shady ‘bout that.”

“Kim’s a family friend,” Rhona explains, ducking her head with shame for the words that follow, “not _my_ friend, but she offered me a job, you know how hard up we were after Pierce left, wasn’t until I started working for her that I realised I’d made a mistake, Nessa- _Ness_, you’ve no idea how much I wanted to come home.”

“Why didn’t you?” Vanessa shoves her hands into her pockets.

“That stuff with Bails? She’d been planning that for a long time, I knew too much, I still do, she’d have killed me before I even found a ship to take me home.”

“Bails.” Vanessa mummers, “what was going on there?”

“She was paying him to find the map.” Rhona wanders over to slump beside Vanessa, crossing her arms in a mirrored position.

“He got it, of course,” Frank pipes up, coming to fill the space on Vanessa’s other side, “that’s why he was in Tortuga that day you ran into him, he was handing over the goods.”

“He found the map?” Vanessa rubs at her forehead tiredly, trying to link every moment within the past two years, because somehow, it’s all been connected, intertwining through her life and now it’s come to settle here and now.

“He did, but he couldn’t find the treasure.” Rhona says, “you should have heard Kim screaming, she wasn’t happy when that’s all he brought back.”

“What’s changed since?”

“Joe.” Frank utters the name like a curse.

Vanessa’s heart sinks, “that’s why he turned on our Noah, in’it?”

Rhona gives a sad nod, “Kim said he’d heard the story, the poem I mean, brought it back to her as soon as he could.”

Vanessa runs a hand through her hair then down her cheek, pressing hard until she feels bone beneath skin and groans. “Charity’s going to go mad.”

“Must be nice not being on the receiving end of that.” Frank teases, and for the first time, Vanessa finds herself letting her lips turn up because of him, because he’s made her smile. It’s a little bit disconcerting, putting her on edge after how he left Tracy alone with Bails in Port Royal.

Her smile quickly fades. “What would you have done if I hadn’t gotten Tracy out of there, dad?”

Frank startles at the new angle of questioning, leaning away from Vanessa in order to meet her eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to work out that way.”

“That’s not what I asked.” She’s annoyed, but there’s no fight left in her anymore. What’s done is done and Tracy is safe, and Bails is dead, that’s all there is to it, but maybe, just maybe if Frank tells the truth, she can get some closure out of this. It won’t be enough to redeem himself, but I could be a start.

“There’s no excuse for what I did, Teeny,” he hesitantly lifts his arm, beckoning Vanessa into his side and she can’t fight it anymore, giving into the need to be close to him again. She shuffles to her left and leans in slowly, Frank automatically pulling her tight with an evident refusal to ever let her go again. “That was when Kim first got noticed, and when everything with you and Charity happened, I just lost control of it all.” He says, voice sounding shallow as he presses his lips to Vanessa’s temple. Her eyes flutter closed, feeling an unfamiliar warmth fill her chest that’s far stronger than the pain that shoots through her face at the pressure against her injuries. “Bails received orders to send me back to England, obviously he was given different reasons, but I didn’t have a choice, I couldn’t bring Tracy with me.”

“You could’ve.”

“Teeny, I couldn’t, I swear to you, I thought I was keeping her safe by not getting her involved in this.” Vanessa clenches her eyes shut tightly, the sting of tears threatening to spill over. “The Tate’s can’t get their hands on that treasure, if they do, the consequences will be far worse. I thought I was keeping you both safe.”

“Did you know what he was doing? What he did to Charity?” Vanessa grits out, knowing that wherever they go from here will depend on his answer.

“Not until I found Rhona and she told me everything.” Frank mutters sombrely.

Vanessa sobers up and untangles herself from Frank. “How did you find each other?”

“The day he went to find Kim,” Rhona says, smiling softly at the sight in front of her, “I’m the ship doctor.”

“Not sure my mum taught you all that so you could waste it on someone like Kim Tate.” Vanessa teases, leaning back into Frank’s side and extending a hand out for Rhona to take. She clears her throat, “it’s nice to see you both again.” She says it like she’s talking to old acquaintances, someone she met once in passing, not her dad and best friend, but she can’t bring herself to go any deeper than that right now.

Frank’s mouth opens, a reply on the tip of his tongue, when the black sky above turns a blinding white, then the ship’s thrown to its side, almost tilting down into the water, as an eruption so loud and so powerful, sends Vanessa flying across the deck. 

She lands in the rigging, the ropes catching her like a net until the ship rights itself and she tumbles to the hard wood floor. The white light that engulfs them suddenly fades away leaving a hot orange glow in its wake. “What the fuck was that?” Vanessa probably screams it because her ears are ringing the world is spinning and all she can smell is smoke and gun powder, filling her lungs with each painful breath.

Frank hauls himself up off the ground and drags Rhona and Vanessa with him just as Charity and Noah come barrelling up the stairs.

“That’s my ship!” Charity screams out shrilly at the sea in a voice that sounds far from familiar to Vanessa’s ears and with eyes blown wide so wide with horror that Charity doesn’t look like herself.

It’s not until Vanessa rights herself, the ringing dying down in her ear drums, and she comes to stand beside Charity, that she realises what’s happened.

The Merciless, or what’s left of it, is burning, pieces of the hull and sails raining down around it and a fire is raging on the remaining section of ship that’s struggling to stay afloat. A thick, black plume of smoke billowing up into the sky, grey and ghostly against the glow of the moon.

The roar of the inferno is so loud, so deafening, even half a mile away from the explosion, that the panicked shouting of the rest of Vanessa’s crew sounds no louder than whispers.

Vanessa can’t speak, can’t find her voice and it’s all she can do just to cling on to Charity, helplessly watching the Merciless sinking into the harbour.

“I’m gonna kill her with my bare hands!” Charity howls, ready to throw herself over the side of the ship and find Kim Tate herself, but Vanessa strengthens her hold, pulling her back to the rudder. “That evil, conniving-”

“Half my crew were on that ship.” Noah’s voice pulls Charity from her wild rant, and they turn together to find him on wobbly legs, face pale and stricken with horror, the flames reflecting dangerously in his eyes. “They’re dead.”


	7. Black Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is up late, I've had a busy couple of days and this week I'm graduating so I can't make any promises that there'll be another chapter this week but I'll do my best.

They can’t talk about the deaths in the hours following, Victoria is inconsolable after they drag her from the water, and Marlon does his best to keep her together.

Billy clings to his brother for dear life, wrapping him up in a warm blanket with fear etched in deep lines across his face, and David follows Jacob around like he’s about to disappear in the wind if he so much as blinks.

Vanessa gets it, neither Charity or she let Noah and Ryan out of their sights for a good four hours as they recover from the aftermath, sweeping the deck and checking over the remaining, fewer, members of the Merciless that they managed to save from the wreckage.

Robert paces up and down the length of the deck looking pale and agitated, with his hands wringing restlessly with an incessant pace.

But Cain sits quiet and unresponsive beneath the main mast.

No one dares go near him after he threatened to throw Paddy overboard.

Vanessa sails the ship around to the far side of the island, refusing to risk Kim finding out about the Queen Anne. Aaron rows Frank and Rhona back to shore once the fire dies out and the occupants of the town have retreated back to their homes to hide behind closed doors, the Merciless no longer an eyesore of a spectacle.

All they can do is wait now, and that seems to make things worse, the two crews crowded into the one ship growing restless and agitated as the hours pass painfully slow. With the smell of smoke still hanging heavily around the island, Vanessa keeps herself busy below deck, visiting Jimmy more now that he’s awake and on the mend, and stewing over the map, trying to memorise the route they have to take once they can break away from the Tate’s Revenge.

It’s a few hours until sun rise when she hears a commotion outside the door to their room, Charity shouting and Ryan screaming back. Vanessa braces herself, the door clattering open as the pair come stomping down the stairs.

“Tell her I’m not going home.” Ryan demands, storming towards Vanessa.

“You don’t have a choice, kid.” Charity seems adamant of that, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip against the head of the table where Vanessa’s slumped.

Ryan barks out a scoff, “I don’t see you sending Noah away.”

“Because his crew will only listen to him.” Charity fires back, throwing her arms up in exasperation. Whatever they’re arguing about, it’s clear to her that it’s been happening for a while and she’s only just catching the tail end. “I don’t have a choice in that.”

“I’m part of his crew.”

“I don’t care.” Charity snaps, “you’re my kid, an’ we need people to get the word back home.”

“Vanessa,” Ryan turns to her, pleading, “tell her I’m not going.”

Vanessa splutters, oblivious to whatever decision has been made and she holds her hands up defensively. “What’s going on?”

“We’re overcrowded and we need to let Moira-” Charity’s voice breaks, but she quickly recovers, clearing her throat, “I’m sending Ryan back home, Vic and Jimmy are going too and as much of Noah’s crew as we can let up.” She rubs at her cheeks tiredly, “Amy’s got a ship sorted for us, said she can’t stay here now.”

“That seems fair.” Vanessa gives Ryan an apologetic smile, “they need to know, Ryan, they _deserve_ to know, and we can’t afford to feed all these people.”

“Then send someone else!” With that, he charges back up the stairs and out onto the deck, door slamming with an air of finality behind him.

Charity’s stiff for a long moment, before she drops into a crouch beside Vanessa and lays her head against her arm, her hair falling around her face like a veil. Charity doesn’t say anything, just listens to Vanessa when she turns back to scribbling in the ledger because it keeps her mind busy, keeps it from wandering to that dark place in the back of her brain that feels as though its creeping closer. 

There’s an aching in her chest that she can’t ignore, though, the Merciless had been her first home with Charity, where they had grown into the people they are, together, and now it’s gone, nothing left but the smell of smoke in the air and scorched, splintered wood that still litters the deck of the Queen Anne.

And with that newfound emptiness, it leaves room for that tar like anger and rage to seep into the very depths of her body, leaving Vanessa with little hope to rid it for good. His voice grows louder, more prominent, whispering her fears that she’s fought hard to supress.

The edges of her eye twitches tellingly, but Charity’s face is still buried into her thigh, oblivious to the crumbling beginning to unfold inside Vanessa’s mind.

Wordlessly, she discards the blunt pencil and slips her hand off the table to knit her fingers through Charity’s hair, holding her close when she feels a tell-tale shake of her shoulders against her thigh. Vanessa eases herself down onto the floor, and it’s like they’ve always been made to fit because Charity wraps herself around Vanessa without speaking.

She feels her own tears fall into the top of Charity’s head, her hair smelling faintly of smoke, the pair quietly crying; mourning a loss that seems so petty in comparison to what others back home are about to experience. But together, alone in their own space, they don’t have to feel ashamed.

When Vanessa feels Charity’s hushed sobs subside, she leans back slightly and catches her lips between her own, wiping at the tears that have left streaks through the remnants of soot down her cheeks with her thumbs, “dance with me?”

Charity laughs around the last of her tears, lip wobbling, “what? Ness, no…”

“Dance with me, please?” Vanessa says again, with a shrug this time and a sure smile pulling at the edge of her lips. There’s a heaviness weighing on her shoulder, one similar to that she felt the first time on the Merciless, the night she lost her first crewman to an infection. Charity had danced with her until that pain had ebbed away, danced with her as though the simple act of just being close would be all the medicine she’d need.

“Okay,” Charity nods, letting Vanessa help her to her feet. Vanessa can feel Charity’s eyes on her as she wanders over to the table beside their bed and she beams over her shoulder, flipping open the lid on Debbie’s old music box.

Another laugh pulls from Charity’s lungs and Vanessa’s heart gives a resounding leap at the sound. Her feat carry her back over to Charity, hands lifting to wrap over her shoulders in the same moment that Charity grabs her hips and pulls her flush against her chest, sliding her hands around to splay her fingers across the centre of Vanessa’s back.

Charity’s eyes are still shining and red with tears, but their gentle swaying to the melody that’s grown so familiar to Vanessa over the past two years, begins to alleviate some of that heaviness she can feel rippling through Charity’s muscles beneath her shoulders. “What you thinking ‘bout?” She asks, trailing a finger across the back of Charity’s neck.

“Spoons.” Charity states with an air of utter sincerity.

“You what?” Vanessa snatches herself back, eying Charity cautiously.

“That would hurt if one went in your eye wouldn’t it?” Charity muses around a smirk, “thinkin’ ‘bout stabbing one straight through Kim’s good one.”

Vanessa laughs out her relief, “thought that cut of yours ‘ad got infected there, messin’ with your head.”

“‘Course not, love,” she says, dipping Vanessa low and bringing her back into an upright position to spin her slowly, tugging her back against her body with a gentle smile, “she’s gonna pay for this, though.” But the smile falters at the corners of Charity’s mouth, tilting down almost indiscernibly.

Vanessa bows her head in a hard nod, “she will.” Her eyes flutter closed for the briefest of moments, long enough for flashes of the nightmare to flickers through the darkness – Kim’s sword skewering Charity heartlessly – and something hits too close to home because Vanessa drops one of her hands to hover nervously over the sutured gash above Charity’s belly button. It could have been so much worse. “But not right now,” Vanessa grits out, “first, we need to get to that treasure before she does.”

Charity makes a passive sound of agreement in the back of her throat, and tucks Vanessa under her chin so her arms can wrap securely around her waist. “Then can I use the spoon?”

“As long as it’s a rusty one.” Vanessa utters against Charity’s chest, drawing in a long breath that’s filled with that comforting scent of everything Charity and feels her own body relax into her hold completely.

“Deal.”

-

Vanessa doesn’t ask what Charity has to say to convince Ryan to go, but the following morning he boards Amy’s small ship, along with Jimmy, Vic and almost all of Noah’s crew, and they set sail back home.

There’s a more than substantial part of her that wishes she was joining them, but one glance in Charity’s direction has that though subsiding just as quick as it had formed.

Jimmy seems the most displeased by the order that Vanessa approves, but he doesn’t complain, at least not to her face, and they say their goodbyes over a brief hug. “I don’t think you’re going mad.” He whispers close to her ear before she pulls away, and she’s glad, because her cheeks burn with a deep blush.

“I thought you were asleep.” She mutters, keeping her head bowed to hide her face.

Jimmy grunts, tossing a leg over the side of the ship to climb down the rope ladder, “sounded like you needed to talk.” He disappears over the side with a final nod.

After that, the Queen Anne falls into an almost uncomfortable and subdued silence as they wait. That’s all they can do at this point. Vanessa’s not even sure what for, it’s not like they can start chasing the Tate’s Revenge the second they see it leave Tortuga, they have to give it at least a day’s head start to avoid being seen. But they know which way Kim’s sailing, north-east, until Frank and she lose their bearings and then the race is on – so to speak.

It’s that night while Charity’s up at the helm, when Vanessa hears the orders yelled out and the Queen Anne begins to creep through the choppy, storm charged waters.

She closes the ledger and packs up Noah’s map, slipping it into her back pocket of her trousers as she makes her way up the stairs and out onto the deck.

There’s a chill in the air, not uncommon for this time of year, but definitely colder than they’ve been used to while on land. She rubs her hands together, and breathes a hot puff of air between them, frowning at the white cloud that spreads out into the air between her fingers. “We off?” She asks when she reaches the top of the steps, smiling fondly at the sight before her.

Charity beams up at Vanessa, her teeth gripping her pipe in place as a plume of faint, pink-ish smoke rises into the black sky. “They left a few hours ago, watched them sail that way,” Charity points blindly through the dark out into the open water. “The main sail’s down, so we won’t be catching up to them any time soon,” she adds as an afterthought when she spots the scarcely concealed concern that Vanessa feels creep across her own features.

Vanessa drops her hands from her lips and huddles in close to Charity’s side, feeling her body temperature rise almost instantly, “what do you think we’ll be following?” She asks, “the trail, I mean.”

Charity shrugs, the motion jostling Vanessa’s head where it’s laying against her collarbone, “I dunno, love, but it better be somethin’ we can track, an’ not draw Kim’s attention, y’know what your dad’s like.” 

Vanessa hums out her agreement and winds her arms around Charity’s waist. She doesn’t say anything after that, the pair falling into a comfortable silence, content with just standing wrapped within one another’s arms until the moon is beginning its decent and Charity begins to shiver.

Cain comes out of his hide away below deck, face pail with dark and heavy bags beneath his eyes. “Get lost.” He grunts out, and neither Charity nor Vanessa argue with him while he’s still in this retreated state of existence.

It turns out the trail, is literally that, there’s a rotting plank of wood three days in with what looks to be a scrap of raw beef nailed to the middle – Aaron spots it first from up in the crow’s nest, his telescope scanning the horizon. But it’s not that which he notices first, it’s the swarm of screaming seagulls above it, all fighting over the food that’s been dropped straight into their laps.

A day later, just as the sun’s rising in the sky, they find another. 

It goes on like this for days, nearly a week, to the point that Charity scrutinises her surroundings with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “I don’t know where we are,” and Vanessa can hear the worry as clear as day because Charity doesn’t try hiding it, can’t hide it, even through the thick, green-ish fog that settles across the Queen Anne like a blanket.

The sea’s a different colour here, greyer, but the air is hot and humid, sticky and uncomfortable to the point where it becomes harder to breathe outside if you risk it for too long.

There’s not a spec of land in sight, not that they’d be able to see it through the discoloured haze that settles, and despite the fact that Charity and Vanessa stare down at the compass for hours on end within the confines of their quarters, there’s no answers in the tip of the needle as it spins around to point north-east.

It’s that _not knowing_, that has Vanessa’s defences raised and that alone isn’t an anomaly. The rest of the crew grow more and more on edge as the days pass by and on more than one occasion, Vanessa has to break up a fight between a few members of Noah’s crew and Cain.

But While Frank’s trail remains consistent, their journey doesn’t feel as though it’s going to reach an end any time soon.

The bad mood spreads throughout the crew like a plague, attitudes turning hostile and poisonous, and even Vanessa begins to feel it. Like something dark and thick as tar seeping in through her veins.

It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. There’s no reason for her to be feeling this way, nor the men down on the deck below, used to long months out at sea, crammed together on the ship without setting foot on land. It feels artificial somehow, a spiralling sensation of doubt and anger clutched out of thin air and fed into their subconsciousness.

The only time Vanessa finds clarity within her own head is when she’s below deck, where that mysterious fog doesn’t find its way into her lungs. They’d figured it out a couple of days ago, that this rigid air of conflict that had befallen them was down to the weather, something in that poem of Noah’s had hinted as much, too. And so, Vanessa had given the order that no one was to be out in the open unless their duties required them to be and for no more than an hour at a time.

It makes it fairly difficult for Charity, Cain and Vanessa to sail the Queen Anne.

Charity joins Vanessa once her own shift is up, relieved by Cain who only ever emerges from his cave below deck when it’s his turn up at the helm. She comes stomping down the stairs, her face creased into a hard frown, and she kicks off her boots, tossing her hat to the bed and then sits herself down by Vanessa’s side. A book is snatched up from the table and Vanessa can see some of that tension easing its way out of Charity’s frame as she draws in a few calming breaths.

“If this doesn’t clear up when we get to that island…” Charity grits through a clenched jaw, shaking her head with irritation.

Vanessa doesn’t look up from the piles of paper that Noah has dumped with her, notes, the map, copies of the poem with scribbled annotations, the ledger. “If.” They’re a week and a half behind schedule, this whole game of cat and mouse having stretched out far longer than any of them had considered it would, and now Vanessa’s trying to work out how to make their supplies last within an unknown time frame, while attempting to speed up this whole trip.

If all goes well from now, they’ll be home within the month and breaking into the very last of their water reserves as long as no one minds it being made up almost entirely of rum...

“Hm?” Charity glances up from the book that Vanessa suspects she’s not even reading.

“_If _we make it to the island.” Vanessa grumbles, scribbling out a calculation.

“Right, well we’ll just give up now then, eh.” Charity snaps her book shut, that simulated anger not quite completely free of her system yet, and she climbs to her feet without another a word. Vanessa follows Charity with her eye through the curtain of hair that’s coned her face, watches as she undresses and silently gets into bed.

She’s not sure what’s she said to warrant such a reaction, but she knows it’s not all Charity, not all personal, but it has Vanessa tugging her lower lip between her teeth anyway, worrying it to the point where the skin nearly splits.

But she doesn’t make any kind of move to go and reassure her. Instead, she continues on with her vein attempts of planning the next part of their trip until she knows that the strange fog that’s worked its way into Charity’s system has alleviated with a long, relived sigh.

“Better?” Vanessa asks quietly, her voice still wary.

Charity plumps up the pillow behind her head and settles into it. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Vanessa reassures and begins packing away her work, giving up for the night. “An’ no, I don’t think it’ll be gone _when_ we get to the island.” She says, “it might be lighter, but no.”

Charity groans out her frustration but holds a hand up for Vanessa to take. She crosses the room and perches herself down in the edge of the bed, already undressed, clothed in nothing but one of Charity’s old shirts that hangs from one shoulder and barely covers her chest. “I don’t think Cain’s gonna last much longer, Ness.”

Vanessa gives a careful nod, he seems to be holding up the worst out of everyone on board the Queen Anne, picking fights left and right when he does show his face, when he doesn’t, he barely eats, doesn’t even drink his rations of water. “We’ll work somethin’ out.”

How, she doesn’t have an answer for that, but she’s determined to get her crew – what’s left of it, that is – home, alive and safe. And that determination must be prominently abundant in her voice to be enough for Charity. “We better had,” Charity grumbles, “‘cause so much has already been lost for it not to have any reason.”

Vanessa rolls her shoulders before climbing into Charity’s lap, straddling her hips and allowing herself a brief, fleeting moment, to appreciate their height differences. She cups Charity’s cheeks, drawing green eyes up to meet her own and smooths out the crease between her eyebrows with her thumb. It’s a rare moment they have alone together, now with the Queen Anne holding two crews, and reaching the last leg of their little adventure, it feels as though they’ve been constantly pulled apart. “We just gotta keep these,” she taps a finger to Charity’s temple, “on here,” the finger moves to her shoulder, “and we’ll be fine, yeah?”

She doesn’t have much belief in her own words but having them spoken aloud seems to have a positive effect. If only the sinking feeling that comes with the fresh air outside, didn’t feel so uncomfortably close to the one she’s been living with for the past two years, maybe then, she wouldn’t be doubting herself so much now.

-

Up at the helm, Charity’s compass takes a nose dive until the needle points south for a second before spinning out of control, refusing to settle. This is where the trail ends, the last scrap of meat floating a couple of feet away, swarmed and devoured by seagulls above.

It’s the first time in weeks, four or five – Vanessa’s lost count, that they’ve seen a slither of land, but now they’re dead set on the edge of a cluster of tropical islands, their shadowing silhouettes ghosting through the thick fog that doesn’t seem to want to let up.

“Which one?” Cain grumbles, the torn material that’s tied around his head, covering his mouth and nose, muffles his voice.

They’ve all chosen to cover their faces, it doesn’t offer up much protection, but they’re able to last longer out in the open without wanting to tear each other’s throats out. Vanessa rolls out the map across the table beside the rudder, Charity, Cain, Noah and Jacob all crowd around. “We’re here,” Vanessa points to the edge of one of the islands, able to recognise its shape and outline from the view that sits before them, “we need to be here.” Her finger slides overs the cluster to the largest island, the one shaped vaguely like a seahorse, albeit a slightly disformed one. “Without the map, Kim shouldn’t have any choice but to search all of these, or at least take an educated guess.” Vanessa continues on, looking up to make eye contact with each person as she speaks, “even then, there’s no way she’s going to be able to find the treasure unless there’s a big ol’ ‘x’ painted on the ground for her to find.”

“Any signs of them?” Charity directs her question to Noah.

“Not yet, but like Ness said, they could be anywhere.” He scratches at the bridge of his nose where the torn cloth is irritating his skin.

Vanessa reaches out without thinking, loosening the knot slightly on the back of his head and rearranges the makeshift mask. “We’ll circle, that way we lower the chances of Kim spotting us,” Vanessa continues on, trying the best she can to avoid Charity’s affectionate gaze while at the same time trying to stifle the malicious laughing of a voice that won’t quieten down still echoing around the inside of her skull, “sail in through here, this looks like a good enough spot to drop anchor.” 

Cain’s nodding his agreement before she even finishes, but there’s something darker lying beneath his hard stare that sets Vanessa on edge. It’s been there since Tortuga, grown deeper and more intense since the fog, and it feels as though they’re all waiting for him to explode, watching the fuse burn faster and faster. “I’ll take us ‘round,” he says, dropping his hold on Vanessa’s eyes like he knows what she can see, “you two get everyone ready.”

Cain veers the Queen Anne into the neck of the seahorse a little under an hour later when a light haze of rain starts to fall. They drift in between towering, jagged cliff faces that offer a small ounce of protection from the dense fog and shields them from view of any passing ships. _Not that there’ll be many_, Vanessa thinks dryly as she straps her sword to her hip and tightens the knot at the back of her head. Only the Tate’s Revenge will be out here, and even then, Vanessa is confident they that have a good few hours head start on them, despite tracking them for the past month. 

Noah leads them out onto the shingle beach, crouching low in the thick treeline of impenetrable jungle. Vanessa stoops low between him and Charity, just as Jacob begins offering up his services to chop his way through the undergrowth in a way that she assumes is supposed to be chivalrous. Vanessa clears her throat, silencing him, and sketches out a rough outline of the island in the damp sand with the point of her knife, “we can’t afford to waste any time, so we’ll need our biggest guys at the front.” She angels the knife towards Billy, Pete and Ellis then reluctantly towards Liam. Her decision has Jacob bristling, cheeks pinking with embarrassment and offence, but they don’t have time to try and stroke his ego, “take out what you can, and as quick as you can, an’ we’ll follow. Stick in pairs.” Her first choice would have been Jimmy, of course, because as much as she likes to question whether there’s actually anything going on in that massive head of his, he makes up for what he’s lacking there in sheer body mass. But without him, she has to make do. “Make towards this point,” she scratches out an ‘x’ to where she assumes is probably north of the island, but without a working compass and a map that makes no bloody sense, there’s no way of knowing which way they’re heading, “Marlon, Sam, you bring up the rear, rest of you, on me.”

She waves Billy off into the jungle first, watching as he grabs Liam by the back of his collar and lugs him to his feet, Ellis and Pete following a second later. They hold back for a couple of minutes until the sound of chopping and splintering wood becomes muted. “Eyes open, fellas.” Charity says, drawing her sword, “we don’t know what’s in ‘ere,” she takes a hesitant step deeper into the treeline, eyes darting around to every flickering shadow, “or who.”

“Captain?” Robert’s hesitant voice takes Vanessa by surprise, bringing her to a holt just inside the tree line. He hadn’t so much as glanced in Vanessa’s direction since the day they set sail, choosing to hover by Aaron when he wasn’t skulking off who knows where with an obvious lack of enthusiasm towards this whole adventure, and with more, what Vanessa assumes to be, fear.

“Yeah?” She asks, turning to look over her shoulder to make sure the rest of the crew haven’t wandered off without them. Robert seems tentative enough about the jungle to keep his feet firmly planted in the stony sand.

He rubs at the back of his neck, his eyes wandering out towards the two towering cliff faces. “I’d quite like to stay here, y’know, keep a look out.”

Vanessa frowns, because if David and Liam of all people can wander into the jungle, then surely Robert can too. Vanessa certainly feels much safer in a group rather than on her own, anyroad. “You sure?” She asks, and when Robert gives her a hard and unwavering nod, she turns to Rodney and holds out her hand. “Pass me your gun.”

“Oh,” Robert takes a quick step towards her, “I won’t be needing that,” he says, “got me sword.”

Vanessa loads the pistol with a single shot and hands it over to Robert despite his protests. “I’d feel a load better knowing you can let us know if Kim shows up.” She says, “if she does, fire this, an’ we’ll hear.” And as a second thought, she adds, “actually, Rodney, you stay here too, just in case.” While Aaron looks about ready to protest, eyeing Rodney with a strange sort of guiltiness, Rodney looks more than relieved to stay behind on the beach, and neither put up any protests when Vanessa lifts an eyebrow in challenge.

“We’ll hold them off for as long as I can.”

“No.” Vanessa gives a firm shake of her head, “you’re not to engage with them in any way. We’ve lost enough people because of her; I’d like to avoid adding to that number.”

“Right.” Robert holsters the gun and makes to slump down next to the scribbled map in the sand. Rodney hovers close behind.

Vanessa sidles up next to Charity, feeling the warmth of her body even through the rain. “You come find us if they show up, yeah?”

“Will do, Captain.” They reply in unison.

“Don’t mess it up for us.” Cain shoves his way past Charity and walks for a good half an hour on his own, the trees become so thick, canopy so overwhelming, that little to no light reaches the jungle floor, and the only signs that Cain is still within ear shot is the consistent crunch as he bites into his apple.

At least he’s eating.

But the dense tangle of trees and bushes do allow them a small liberty from the fog. Here, it seeps down through leaves like the light wisps of smoke from Charity’s pipe, and Vanessa tugs the torn piece of fabric from her face to wipe at the sweat forming on her forehead, dripping down from her hairline.

There’s plants and trees here that Vanessa’s never seen before and it’s almost as though she’s stepped into a different world. Flowers so bright and enticing, leaves as big as her head…

“Ness?” Charity taps her on her shoulder, and she jumps, letting out a stifled scream behind her hand. Everyone’s fallen into a comfortable silence since leaving the safety of the beach, content with completing this trek without speaking. Leaving Vanessa alone with the endless streams of empty, cold laughter and whispers of power and death inside her mind.

“Jesus, Charit-” Vanessa stops her mouth forming the rest of that sentence, though, snapping her teeth together. Charity’s got her hands behind her back, beaming down at her with this annoyingly beautiful grin, “what have you done?”

Charity only looks offended for a fleeting second before the grin quickly returns and she whips one of her hands around, extending it out towards Vanessa, and clasped firmly in her fist, is a bright yellow flower. It’s beautiful with its blood orange centre and sunshine yellow tips, and most definitely has poison beading on the sharp barbs that line the stem.

She smiles, because her hearts thrumming pleasantly in her chest at the sight, at the sentiment that Charity’s trying to convey even with the fog that’s still lingering in delicate clouds in the air and the hushed voice inside her own head.

But Vanessa slaps the back of Charity’s hand so fast and so hard that the flower’s sent flying through the air and lands on the freshly cut path. “What d’you do that for?” Charity gasps, bottom lip jutting out.

Vanessa ignores the question and tugs Charity’s hand into her own, examining her palm for any pricked or broken skin. “Don’t go picking things that might kill you, love.” Vanessa chuckles out a relieved breath once her inspection comes up clean and lifts Charity’s hand up to her lips, kissing the rough skin at the base of her fingers. “Especially here, I don’t know what any of these things are, and I definitely don’t know how to help you if you get poisoned by a plant.”

“Wh- _poisoned_?” Charity’s eyes bulge out of her skull, “what?” Vanessa just smirks in response and pulls Charity up the path to catch up to Cain, shaking her head in amusement when Charity grinds her foot into the flower, sinking it into the dirt. “How’d you know it were poisonous?”

“Books,” Vanessa taps a finger to her temple and grins teasingly, “I don’t just pretend to read them like some people do, eh.” She gives Charity a knowing look over her shoulder.

Charity scoffs with a roll of her eyes, “Shut up.”

Vanessa hums and drops her hand to lace her fingers between Charity’s. “Keep up so I can keep an eye on you.” She jokes, but Charity’s grip tightens reassuringly, and the pair fall into step.

They walk on for a couple of hours more, the humidity growing thicker and thicker the deeper they crawl into the jungle to the point where Vanessa’s shirt is soaked through and her hair is matted to her head. Her boots are beginning to rub against her feet and there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s going to have a few painful blisters to tend to once they stop.

Which, with no way of knowing how far into the island they are, or how far away from the treasure they are, she brings her forefinger and thumb up to her lips and blows. “Hold it.” She calls.

The men come to an obliging holt, letting out a unanimous groan of relief when Vanessa tells them to take a break. They’re in a small clearing, the trees few and far between here, and the space offers up a slight relief from the rising temperature.

When Billy and the others come to join, she gets David and Liam working on a fire and sends Pete off to find some fresh water. Vanessa slumps down into Charity’s side and closes her eyes, tipping her hat down across her face and lets the heaviness that’s been weighing her down through their trek, finally take over.

She’s beginning to doze, the noises in her head softening, when Charity shifts from behind her, a complaint on her lips, but then her boots are being yanked from her feet and she peeks out from under the lip of her hat. Charity’s lumping her boots next to the fire, her own placed down beside them to dry out and then she’s making her way back to sit behind Vanessa, draping an arm over her shoulder with their feet facing the flames.

“How far left, d’you think?” Vanessa mumbles drowsily.

Charity shrugs gently and reaches down to find Vanessa’s hand, “couple more hours, maybe. No idea where we are, though.” With her free hand, she rummages through Vanessa’s pocket and pulls out the map, flicking it open and spreads it out across her lap. “Aaron?” She calls, and a responding grunt sounds from somewhere up above them. “You see anything, mountains or a river?” She asks, and Vanessa turns to train her own eyes on the map.

There’s a moment of pause and the men around the fire all fall silent too in anticipation. “There’s a mountain ‘bout a mile north of us.”

Charity follows a line from the beach where they dropped anchor, through the centre of the island and stops short of a line of mountains. “Just the one?”

“Three peaks.”

Charity gives a nod, “means we’re somewhere round here.”

“An’ the treasure is on the other side.” Vanessa all but groans as she eyes the faintly scratched red ‘x’ that sits on the far slope of the third ridge. “It’ll take us at least two days to get over them.”

“What if we don’t have to go over?” It’s Pete who interrupts, jogging back into their makeshift camp breathlessly, skin soaked, and clothes drenched through with a thick layer of sweat. “Think one of you needs to come see this.”

“I’ve got it,” Charity says, climbing to her feet. She throws on her boots with a grimace and slips her sword back into her belt. She drops her hand to Vanessa’s shoulder and gives her a reassuring squeeze before disappearing off into the thick of the treeline with Pete.

It’s when Charity’s warmth begins to seep out of Vanessa’s back that she feels that tiredness dissipate from her bones and her eyes begin to wander, coming to land on Cain, slumped beneath a tree at the edge of the group. He’s far enough away that they know he doesn’t want to be bothered, not that anyone would want to, with the way he’s been lashing out lately, but Vanessa stands anyway, climbing back into her boots that are dry and warm, and wanders over to him cautiously.

She makes her footsteps as light as possible so as not to aggravate him before she’s even had a chance to say what she needs to. Vanessa knows that she’s probably about to regret this, but after the last couple of weeks, it’s become apparent to her now that they both have something more in common than just Charity alone. Her mind flashes back to one of her darkest moments, back after they first won the Queen Anne, when Vanessa had spent weeks locking herself away below deck and refusing to make any effort to keep herself alive. Cain, to her complete surprise had been the one to pull her from the hollow of self-pity.

Tortuga seems to be the common denominator in this strange equation they’ve found themselves in, and Vanessa feels as though she owes him something, some sort of repayment for that because without him who knows where she’d be now, or if she’d even be here at all.

“Hey.” She whispers, slumping down against the tree beside him. Cain doesn’t say anything. “Fetched you some water.” She says, holding up a flask.

“You after somethin’?” Cain grunts and his body tenses noticeably, but his eyes remain closed.

Vanessa lets out an indignant huff of frustration, “just checking up on you.”

“Well, _princess_, you’ve checked, I don’t want your water, I’m sleeping.” Despite how low and calm Cain’s words leave his mouth, Vanessa can’t help but feel like she’s been slapped. “Get lost.”

Okay, she was expecting this, but now she feels stuck, unsure what she’s supposed to do now to help him.

Vanessa doesn’t leave, though, choosing to stay where she is and wordlessly drops the flask to the ground between them. If Cain doesn’t want to talk about Matty, that’s fine, but she wouldn’t feel right walking away.

They sit together in silence, Vanessa feeling as though she’s won some sort of battle when Cain doesn’t protest – even if he is just ignoring her. But the quiet opens up a rift inside her head again and the low drone of a voice begins to seep into the forefront of her mind, reminding her again of the power laying hidden on the other side of the mountain, the power that Kim wants to use to destroy Charity and their family, the island they call home.

It’s that voice, Bails’ voice, that prompts that darkness ever closer, bringing with it the urge to claim that power as her own.

After a couple of long, tense minutes, Vanessa can’t stand the audible silence any longer. Her eyes keep flickering to the thick treeline where Charity and Pete have disappeared, and her fingers rap impatiently against her thigh. “How much gold do you think’s out there?” She speaks into the stiff air, with no reply to be had. Billy and Aaron have set up a makeshift table from a barrel and their laughter carries over to her as they start up a game with a set of dice. “I’ve heard a few different stories,” Vanessa continues on, “some say it’s a chest with the most valuable gold… Spanish I think.” She caps the bottle and takes a quick sip of her water, “others said it were cursed medallions.”

At that, Cain lets out an incredulous scoff and snatches the canteen from her hand, “don’t believe everythin’ you ‘ear.”

Vanessa’s thankful for the odd angle of the tree they’re slumped against, because it means Cain can’t see the way she practically glows at the small victory. “Alright, then, what do you think?” She says challengingly, knowing fine well he likes an argument as much as the next person does.

At this, Cain pivots and shoots her a disinterested glare. “You can’t go listening to all these ghost stories and fairy tales that our Noah’s been spouting off, eh.” He lifts the rag up to cover his face, not that they need it in the clearing, the air slightly clearer here, “you gotta look at the facts.” 

“What facts?” Vanessa crosses her arms.

“Look,” it’s the first time Vanessa’s seen Cain looking interested in anything since they left Tortuga, the first time he’s crawled his way out of that dark and gloomy shell of his. He leans forward as though he’s about to let Vanessa in on a big secret and she finds herself matching his frame. “All this rubbish about a ghost crew, that’s impossible, all shit, in’it. _But,_ there was a Billy Bones and he did have a crew and clearly, he did leave his treasure here.”

“Right.” Vanessa nods, feeling herself forgetting about her little mission to check in on him and instead falling headfirst into the story.

“Back in England, I used to do the odd job with a bloke, yeah? His dad or something was part of that crew.” Vanessa feels her jaw drop in disbelief, but Cain doesn’t seem to notice her reaction, “said they raided a few Spanish ships an’ tha’, even took the fort at Nassau at one point.”

“You’re havin’ me on.” Vanessa can’t seem to pull her jaw back up.

“Nah, that right there, Princess, is over three million pieces of gold. Not as pure as the Aztecs but close enough.” Vanessa lets out an inhuman squeak of a gasp that pulls cold air painfully into her lungs. “Always thought it was bollocks ‘til our Noah got his hands on that map.” 

“Three… Million…”

“You glad you dragged yourself out here now?” Cain asks smugly, and Vanessa’s almost certain she sees the flicker of a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.

She’s about to nod her head but pauses before her muscles can move, “it’s Noah’s.” She says, remembering the conversation that they’d had what feels months ago now, “he’s paying off the Island’s debts.”

Cain shakes his head, though, and snatches up the bottle again, taking a longer sip of water. “What use is tha’ now? You ‘eard Kim, she knows where we are, and who knows who else.”

“One less thing to worry about,” Vanessa gives a half-hearted shrug, but her mind’s still racing, despite Cain’s reassurances that Noah’s and Frank’s story is just that, a story, or partly, anyway, the prospect of Kim having any sort of power over them is still weighing heavily on her shoulders.

And it continues to do so after Charity and Pete return.

Charity’s eyes are wide and beaming with excitement, so engulfed by whatever Pete’s found, that she doesn’t notice the way Vanessa’s slumped in on herself. “Pack up, we’re off in ten minutes.”

There’s a unanimous groan from the two crews but Charity’s too busy floating around their camp to pay them any attention. She rounds on Vanessa and Cain and beams, a wide beautiful smile, that for some reason, doesn’t alleviate that cold feeling beginning to dance across the surface of Vanessa’s skin.

“We go through.” Charity declares, still beaming.

“Eh?” Vanessa manages to stutter.

“We don’t go over the mountain, we go through it.”

-

At the foot of the mountain, the trip ahead seems more dangerous and more undetermined than ever as Vanessa tilts her head back as far as her neck will allow, and peers up at the peak buried in thick cloud.

But true to Charity’s word, there’s no need to go over, no need to add an extra two days on to this circus of a mission, because there’s a gushing spout of water that’s forcing its way through a slim crack in the rock face, rushing down over the side and into a huge, green lagoon at their feet.

Neither the waterfall nor the pool of water is what has the crew breathing out a united sigh of absolute relief, however, but the subtly concealed cave behind the rushing torrent of water. Pitch-black after a couple of feet as it tunnels further and further into the depths of the mountain.

The relief and excitement that Vanessa feels is short lived when Billy and Pete begin lighting the torches. “Is it safe?”

“Safer than being out in the open.” Charity steps into the water until she’s waist deep and holds a hand out for Vanessa to take, “and it’s better than going over, init?”

It’s a far less time-consuming option, but better? Vanessa’s not enthralled by the idea of walking into an enclosed space blindly. “You sure we can’t go over?” She can’t fight down the nervous laugh when Charity draws her into the water, leading her deeper and deeper until its almost at her chin. 

Beneath the surface, Charity squeezes Vanessa’s hand, dropping it a moment later to wind her arm around her waist to hoist her up when the ground beneath their feet shows no signs of levelling out. “‘Course we could, but we’d probably have to blow a hole in the side of the bastard thing and by that time, Kim’ll ‘ave found us.”

Vanessa clambers up an algae-covered rock that leads up to a protruding ledge with Charity’s help and reaches out to take the torch from her hand to hoists her up the rest of the way. Her boots squelch with each step and water pours from her drenched clothes as they flatten their backs to the jagged stone behind them, but they begin to sidestep their way behind the torrential waterfall despite how uncomfortable Vanessa’s current state makes her.

The air cools her soaked body and the prickling of ice on her arms grows more painful and more prominent with each breath. “Not heard anything from Robert,” Vanessa manages to shout above the roar of water, “that’s a good thing.”

Charity’s foot hesitates an inch or so above the ground and Vanessa turns, brows knitting together into a frown. Charity turns too, glancing back over her shoulder before she follows Vanessa into the cave, “or a bad thing.”

The cave stinks, something damp and rotting, and the air inside the narrow tunnel feels thick and humid, probably steamy if she could see properly; Vanessa finds it hard to breathe past shallow breaths. Her inability to draw in a substantial amount of oxygen and the sheer thickness of the air around her, feels as though it’s drawing that panic, that darkness that’s somehow managed to weed its way into every nerve ending and vein inside Vanessa’s body, to the surface where it burns and scorches at her skin. Her lungs feel tighter with each breath.

Torch light flickers and dances against the slick walls, casting ominous, disformed shadows for as for as she can see in the dimly lit mouth of the cave. She’s half expecting Bails to step out from behind the sharp bend that’s highlighted by the orange glow of flames. His voice growing louder inside her skull, but then Charity’s hand is settling on her wrist and drawing the torch from the white knuckled grip. “You good?”

Is she? Probably not, no. But she’s not about to tell Charity that. They’ve both had enough trouble dealing with Vanessa’s fragile state of mind, and now that they’re so close, barely a stone’s throw away, she can’t go adding to that this close to the end. “We sure this takes us to the treasure?” Vanessa answers instead.

Noah shuffles his way past them then, and Charity follows without a second of hesitation. “Absolutely no clue whatsoever, love.” She gives an overly cheerful shrug, tugging Vanessa along when she’s about to protest. “But we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

When Vanessa looks over her shoulder, the last dwindling of daylight disappearing around the bend, she catches Cain’s eyeroll and chances a quick smile, one she’s surprised to find returned, albeit rigidly. “Put it this way, Princess, we’re either about to find a fortune that’ll have us all set for life or we’re all gonna die.”

“We don’t even know if there’s anything left, or if it were even here in the first place.” Vanessa grumbles, eyeing the shadows that seem to crawl out of the darkness with each step.

“That’s why I added the dying part, init.” He falls into step with Vanessa, his wide frame forcing her closer to the sharp rocks that line the tunnel walls. “We’re fucked if we’ve come all this way for nowt,” Cain lowers his voice so the echoing of his words is dropped to a minimum, only allowing Vanessa, Charity and Noah to hear him, “we’ll need to get back to Tortuga an’ stock up if we’re wanting to make it home more than just skin and bones.”

Vanessa nods her agreement. As much as she despises the idea of ever stepping foot on that god forsaken island again, she knows that with the scarce supplies they have left – thanks to more than two thirds of them being blown up – they don’t have much of a choice. “Let’s hope the stories are more than just that then, eh.”

“Never been one for hoping.” Cain scratches at his chin sceptically.

“Oh, would you give over.” Charity growls. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

They round another corner, sharper this time like they’re doubling back on themselves, and the light from Charity’s torch goes dead in the blankness that envelops them, rising the panic inside Vanessa’s chest until the path evens out and the light finds her eyes with a shudder of relief down her spine.

The air only seems to grow thicker the further they walk, too, and even with the ground turning steeper, this strange sort of tension doesn’t let up.

The cave seems to go on and on, and the blisters on Vanessa’s feet, burning and pulsing with each step, only aid in making the walk feel much longer than it probably is. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty at a push, but between the pain in her feet and the anxiety thrumming through her veins like ice, Vanessa’s beginning to wish more and more for daylight at the end of this tunnel rather than the rewarding glow of gold that they’re hoping find instead.

Charity and Noah come to a holt right at the head of the cave, a dead end except for a slim enough crack in the wall to allow a person to pass through at a time… Vanessa and Cain barrel straight into their backs, Billy and Pete right into theirs, until a domino effect takes place and Noah goes tumbling through the hole, despite both Charity and Vanessa lunging to clutch helplessly at the back of his sweat soaked shirt.

She lets out a panicked scream as he falls, waiting for that dreaded thud when he inevitably hits the ground, blood running thick and cold through her veins. But there isn’t a crack of bones breaking, or a body crushing beneath the force, instead, a metallic trickling sound reverberates off the cave walls, amplified inside whatever cavern Noah’s fallen headfirst into.

Charity turns briefly to catch Vanessa’s eye, a mixture of confusion and excitement playing at her features, until the pair both lean forward in unison to poke their heads through the crack in the wall.

“_Fuck. Me_.”

Vanessa’s jaw plummets and her eyes bulge so wide that she’s genuinely surprised they don’t roll from her head. For a single second, the erratic beating of her heart comes to a sudden, painful stop against her ribs like a heavy punch. Vanessa could almost be fooled into mistaking the cavity beneath the mountain as banquet hall, with columns of broken marble that cut off inches above the jagged ceiling, expensive furniture scattered amongst the source of that glow. Millions of golden coins carpet every available surface like thick blankets, and the flicker of torch light bounces off the golden surface like stars gleaming up at them.

The excitement and awe that filters through her body has her yanking Charity through the hole with her, the pair sliding down a steep bank of pure gold coins, that tinkle shrilly beneath their weights, exposing gravel and dirt briefly before covering it in waves.

Noah’s tearing off towards the centre of the cave, dropping down unceremoniously to lay on his back with his arms and legs spread wide amongst the treasure. He’s laughing, cackling so loud that it drowns out the screams and cheers from the rest of the crew as they join them from the tunnel.

“Well, Christ.” Charity grumbles, a hand coming up to her forehead as she takes in her surroundings, “kid was right.”

Vanessa can only manage a dumbfounded nod of disbelief, reaching out to take Charity’s free hand while her other clutches the hilt of her sword subconsciously, that cold feeling still lingering on the back of her neck like a breath of dead air, keeping her from completely embracing that exhilaration; while the laughter and the whispering within the corners of her mind become ever more persistent in volume.

“Captain?” Vanessa catches Paddy hovering close by from the corner of her eye.

“Yeah?” Something’s not sitting right in her gut, but Vanessa can’t quite place the feeling.

He shuffles on his feet then hoists up one of numerous chests from the ground, gold and jewels spilling over its edges. “Y- you want us to start loading this into the, erm, the tunnel?”

At this, Vanessa lets herself really take in the sight, the prize they’ve found themselves grasping with little effort. All this, or at least, whatever the Queen Anne can feasibly carry, will be enough to pay off each crew members debts one-hundred times over, but there’s something about the uncomplicatedness of these last couple of days that has Vanessa shaking her head wearily. “Just what we need, that’s all we’ve come for.”

Paddy seems surprised by her response, “you sure?” He asks hesitantly when his eyes drop almost greedily down to the overflowing chest in his vice like grip, gaze turning hypnotic and hazy. “Would be a shame to leave this all just ly-”

There’s a thickness in the air, like the one carried in the fog out at sea, that feels false and infesting. “We take what we need to pay off our debts and nothing more.” Vanessa snaps suddenly, sharply, and a stiff hush falls inside the vast space. “Got it?” Her voice raises louder to carry to everyone’s ears, and she doesn’t turn away from Paddy until he and the rest of the crew give an understanding nod. “Right, Cain, I need you on counts, make sure there’s no more than fifteen chests, anymore, I want to know.” He grunts his support and trudges away a second later to help Sam fill a chest closest to the entrance. The Queen Anne can hold more, a lot more, but the voice in the back of her head that’s telling her to take the lot, is setting her teeth on edge.

“Love, I don’t know if it’s because we’ve actually found this place or what, but that was pretty satisfying to watch…” Charity circles her arms around Vanessa’s waist, her breath hot and heavy and her voice a low drawl in her ear, “think you could use that voice tonight?”

There isn’t a shiver of excitement that races down her spine, or an accompanying pool of heat between her legs at Charity’s words, her body doesn’t react the way it should, the way it usually does when Charity makes insinuations like this. Instead, a sour taste stings at the back of her tongue and something white hot and freezing cold erupts within her body, that static in the air blocking the happiness from reaching her heart.

It’s the fog all over again, it’s the only explanation, seeping into the cave from a break or fracture in the rocks. But it doesn’t feel as artificial, doesn’t feel like someone’s feeding poison into her blood stream. This is real and palpable and it’s resonating straight from her gut.

This is it, what they’ve come all this way to find. Mountains of gold more than Vanessa could ever have imagined seeing in her wildest dreams. She can feel the glare of glimmering light burning almost painfully at the backs of her eyes, the feeling resonating deep in her chest as her heart hammers with a mixture of excitement and an odd sense of unplaceable dread; because this doesn’t feel final, doesn’t feel like they’ve won for some reason she can’t place.

There’s something in here that Kim’s after, more than the uncountable amount of gold and diamonds.

Vanessa steps out of Charity’s reach, tightening her grip on her sword, “make sure none of them try pocketing any of this for themselves.” She grits out and then as an afterthought, she adds, “or I might actually use that walking the plank idea.”

She hears Charity squeak out a noise of confusion but she’s already skating her away across the coins towards Noah, needing to channel this feeling, the weight of anger and thick darkness, into something resourceful. She’s vaguely aware of Charity following her through the cloudiness within her head.

Vanessa’s hoisting Noah up off the ground by the shoulder of his shirt halfway through another lap of his arms through gold and gems. “Somethin’s not right.”

He frowns, dusting himself off and pulling out a handful of coins from the inside of his shirt, dropping them to the ground offhandedly. “Eh?”

“Do you not feel that?” Vanessa holds her hand out, palm facing down above a small cabinet table. She instantly feels a subtle change in the air over the gold, like waves of vibrations rising up into the room, like small aftershocks of cannon fire. The sensation has the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand on end. Noah mirrors her motions and frowns.

“What’s that?” He asks, voice turning shallow and small, and not for the first time since leaving home, Vanessa’s reminded of his youth, how young he really is compared to the rest of the crew congregated inside the depths of this labyrinth of tunnels. Barely even sixteen, and he’s already seen things far worse than anyone his age should have, done things he shouldn’t have had to do.

“I don’t know, but if I had to guess, it’s what Kim’s after.” Vanessa picks up one of the coins and rolls it down the back of her flingers, watching it turn from face to face before dropping it back down to the pile. “I’m not sure about this, Noah.”

“Ness, we have to.” He whines, bottom lip jutting out in protest, “we have to, or the second we get back home we’ll be walking straight to the gallows.”

“I _know_.” She bites, immediately regretting it when Noah jumps, staggering to keep his feet planted firmly. With a slump of her shoulders, Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, “I know, I heard what Kim said, yeah, and I know we need to pay of these debts… but what happens if what we’re doing here now, has far worse consequences?”

“Like what?” Noah asks, straightening up to follow Vanessa as she begins to circle the cave floor wearily. Her eyes dart about, pinning down on a shadow until she finds another, the cracks in the walls, the roof, the hole they came through.

“You got those notes?” She asks, refusing to tear her eyes away from the far corner of the room when they land on an outcrop that seems to almost levitate in thin air, jutting out as far as the centre of the cave above a dark hollow. “There.” She points up, not waiting for Noah to pull out the poem and its notes as she starts at a run, skidding across the coin tiled ground.

“Vane- Ness, wait.” Noah slips to the floor, only just managing to clamber back up to his feet before he’s slipping again. “What’s the rush?”

There isn’t one, not really, they’ve won, they’ve cut Kim to the chase, and while they’re still a crew’s worth of men down, Vanessa’s certain they still outnumber her on manpower. They hold the advantage on land, but out at sea? Vanessa knows the Queen Anne’s a chaser, not a fighter, she doesn’t have enough guns to hold Kim off out there on the water if it comes down to it.

But it’s not that, that has Vanessa racing towards the jagged rock lined walls as though her life depends on it, it’s that tar like rage she can feel thrumming beneath the surface of her skin. The edges of her vision blurring black and her body running cold. Her minds growing distant and a merciless laugh echoes somewhere behind memories off sunshine and warm sand beneath her feet and Charity’s lips against hers. Each blink brings images of Moses and Johnny all smiles and innocence.

The vibrations from the gold are reaching into the darkest depths of Vanessa’s soul and pulling at those painful scars with little care or mercy to be had.

Vanessa’s hands shake as she clutches the wall and begins to climb, feeling her chest and shoulders strain under her own weight. “Does it say anything about the curse?” She needs to know, needs the reassurance, that when they take the gold from the cave, they’re not signing their own death warrants. “Anything specific?”

Cain doesn’t believe it, and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t either, or at least, she didn’t until the static she feels surrounding her now begins to form doubts. “I don- I don’t know, would you slow down?” Noah hurries up the rocks with Vanessa, grunting when he comes to stop on a narrow ledge where he hooks his elbow to scan the pages, holding himself in place.

“Ness…” But Noah’s voice sounds distance and shrouded by the thickness of her mind.

On the very tip of the rock sits a small chest. It’s metal detail shines under the flames, absorbing the light and sucking it out of the air as though casting its own orb of darkness. “Black gold.” She whispers disbelievingly, finding herself suddenly toppling headfirst into one of her childhood fairy tales. 

“Here,” Noah’s so close she can feel his body heat, but like the surface of the chest, Vanessa feels as though her own body is welcoming in the darkness of the room, suffocating the yellow glow of Spanish gold. “‘_If ever a soul were to take Capt’n’s gol,’_” Her body fights against Noah’s words, his voice pulling her back into a conscious state of mind while the sight before her draws her in, beckoning her to take a step closer. “‘_the bound to serve would be._’ Ness, you need to stop, we need to sto-”

“Ness…”

She’s flipped the lid on the chest before Noah’s finished speaking, revealing a goblet of the blackest gold with a rim of glistening rubies. The vibrations from the gold down on the cave floor, practically pour from the chest in thick, suffocating waves and everything around Vanessa falls into a deathly silence.

But before her fingers can clasp fully around the freezing cold metal of the cup, a sharp pain pierces the skin between her shoulder blades.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, Captain.”

Kim’s voice echoes around the cavern, the blade of her sword trying to edge deeper into Vanessa’s skin with a slight press of force when she rights herself slowly. She doesn’t turn around, though, instead choses to speak into the cold open air. “This what you wanted?” Her crew down on the ground have been forced to their knees, a small circle of Kim’s men surrounding them with rifles aimed squarely at their heads. “Doesn’t seem to be your taste.”

Kim laughs delightedly at the clear and unwavering shake to Vanessa’s voice despite the effort she puts into hiding it. “If you knew me like our dear Charity does, then you’d know that this is exactly my taste.” The biting of the blade lets up and Vanessa allows herself to grimace with the small amount of privacy that her back to Kim provides before turning around, gulping painfully when her eyes land on both Charity and Noah on their own knees, Graham and Joe holding knives to their throats.


	8. All Curses Come to an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to go a lot different, but at the last minute I changed my mind so there was only minimal casualties (a lot more people were gonna die but I couldn't do it to myself)... so sorry if there's any mistakes or anyone's disappointed but ey up.

“Let them go.” Vanessa’s worst fears are falling into place like a jigsaw, but in the face of it all, she doesn’t feel that darkness or the all-consuming hatred that seems to have been swallowing her whole since leaving home. Her eyes run a calculated trace over the length of Kim’s body and then jumps to Graham and Joe, pauses for barely a second on the gleaming blades of their knives and then back to Kim. “Please.” They’re trapped, backed into a corner with no foreseeable way out of this alive.

Unless.

Without that darkness looming over her like a dead weight, everything seems suddenly clearer to her, clearer than it has done for a long time, now.

Vanessa holds Charity’s gaze, hazel under torch light, it’s firm, void of fear despite the fact that Vanessa knows it’s there in the back of her mind, but with it, she feels the silent reassurance that somehow, they’re going to make it out of this. The final dregs of darkness dissipates under those eyes with an effortless ease. “Take it,” she says simply, waving her hand behind her. None of this matters now, the gold, treasure, power, none of it, not when her family are at dire risk here and now.

Kim snarls, her eye burning in on Vanessa with something fierce, “you’re not giving up that easy, are you? Not want to know how we found you?”

“I’m giving you what you want,” Vanessa grits, feeling her knees begin to knock and an uneasy sweat form along the length of her back. “I don’t care about all of this now.”

“I’m not impressed.” Kim utters, drawing the point of her sword up to her own finger to trace the drips of Vanessa’s blood that’s begun to bead on the metal. “After everything I’ve heard, from Port Royal, Bails… Lovely Robert…” At this, Vanessa catches Charity’s eyes again, a ripple of recognition and realisation drifting across her face, a bubble of betrayal popping with an unimpressive finesse in her gut. But out of the corner of her eye, barely daring herself to take them from Kim for more than a second, she’s sure she catches Aaron struggling with a bout of outrage with one of Kim’s men before he’s tackled down to his chest, face down on the ground.

Vanessa feels a weighted ball of sympathy drop low in her belly, because while she feels her own betrayal simmering through her veins, she can barely imagine ever feeling that at the hand of Charity’s actions. She’s well aware that Charity, more often than not, jumps headfirst into a situation without thinking of the consequences beforehand, but even then, it’s always for the benefit of their family, never something selfish with the possibility to tear their worlds apart.

“Shame you missed that, we put on quite the show.” Charity pipes up smugly, egging Kim on once again while purposefully ignoring her own bait dangling temptingly in front of her face.

Kim ignores the jibe, however, batting it away dismissively, and takes a step towards Vanessa, forcing her back to the rim of the ledge. “Do you know what I’m most unimpressed by?” She asks, and for the first time, Kim turns to direct her attention down on the ground where Vanessa’s crew have been brought to their knees. “How, for the life of me, I didn’t work out that my very own Quarter Master was your father.” Vanessa’s eyes snap to the ground again to find both Frank and Rhona amongst the kneeling, already tied and bound by the wrists, with Robert towering above them with a sword in each hand. There’s a brief moment of sorrow for Aaron that replaces that betrayal for the second time at the sight. “I have to say, leaving that trail for you to follow, that was a good touch, but I’m not oblivious and your father isn’t as discreet as he think’s he is.” Vanessa can feel the panic rising far too quickly in her chest, feeling their chances slipping away with every second that passes.

“So, you knew?” Vanessa asks, trying to mask her indignation as best she can.

“That he stole the map and hired Cairn to follow me? Yes, I knew about all of it, well, I had my suspicions, but it was Robert who confirmed it all for me when you docked in Tortuga.” She inches closer to Vanessa, but without any more rock beneath her feet, Vanessa’s foot fumbles on the ledge, arms spinning dangerously to keep her balance as the ground cracks and crumbles under her weight.

“Kim.” Charity barks. “Your problems with me, not her.”

“_That_,” she whirls on Charity and Vanessa can breathe for the first time, “is true.”

“Right,” Charity shrugs out of Graham’s grip and stands, shoving him back, “so, let them go and let me kill you.”

Kim doesn’t laugh this time, choosing to take a calculated step towards Charity. “You have no idea, do you?”

“What’s that now?” Charity begins to circle Kim just as Graham moves to block Vanessa from doing the same. “You planning on killing us off with a fancy looking cup?”

“Yes.” She barks venomously.

“Wait, what?” Noah snaps, struggling suddenly against Joe’s grip but the blade pressing itself into his Adam’s apple brings him to wary stop.

“Explain.” Charity snaps, putting little effort in to keep up her indifferent and smug façade.

Something changes in Kim’s demeanour at the challenging tone in Charity’s voice and she flicks her hand with a dismissive grace towards Graham. He responds to the silent order, gripping the arch between Vanessa’s neck and shoulder hard, and pushes her drown to the ground. Her knees clatter painfully with the rock, but she doesn’t have time to complain because the sharp edge of Graham’s sword presses against her own neck, the blade biting at the soft skin, breaking it with a searing burn.

She daren’t gulp against the lump of rising nerves in her throat and choses instead to keep her eyes glued as emotionless as she can with Noah’s, ignoring the warm trickle of blood that trails down her skin and into the collar of her shirt. He does a good job of hiding his own fear and uncertainty, but Vanessa’s grown to know him well enough over the past couple of years to be able to recognise the slight shine to his eyes for what it is.

“The Dingle’s aren’t exactly known for much up here,” Kim starts, bringing the point of her sword up to her head, “but you’ve surprised me thus far, so I won’t assume you haven’t worked out most of it for yourself.”

“Watch it.” Charity growls, drawing her sword as slowly as she dares without sending Kim and her crew into a frenzy. Her eyes dance between Kim, and Noah and then over to Vanessa, and she can almost see the rising frustration rippling across the surface of Charity’s skin as she’s backed further and further into a corner with an impossible decision to make.

Kim continues on like she hasn’t been interrupted. “But just in case you haven’t, I’ll help you out a bit.” While the two women continue to circle one another like a pair of feral animals, Vanessa keeps her eyes on Noah, willing for some sort of sign, or anything, to jump out at her, something they can use to get out of this mess.

Her eyes begin to scan along the ledge when Joe drops his sword in favour of pointing it at Charity instead, realising who’s more of a threat in that moment. His grip remains firm on the back of Noah’s neck, however, apparently indifferent towards his own brother, ready to break the bones beneath his fingers if Noah so much as breathes.

“My father spent too many years of his life hunting Billy Bones. It was after Nassau fell from pirate rule, and the King wanted him specifically to become the Island’s first Governor.”

Vanessa’s eyes come to pause on an abandoned torch on the ground by Joe’s feet, still burning, flames drying out the damp rock.

“I think he would have taken up the chance, too, had he not already become so invested in Billy Bones.” Kim says, oblivious to the frantic grinding and turning of cogs inside Vanessa’s head. “Killed himself trying to find this place.”

“He knew about the curse back then?” Charity asks, sounding genuinely intrigued by the story, but Vanessa knows Charity well enough to know that she’s only trying to buy themselves some time.

Vanessa doesn’t see the accompanying shrug to Kim’s words, her eyes trained in on Noah’s belt, but she hears it in her sarcastic tone. “It was common knowledge back then, you know how it is, facts turn into memories, memories into stories, but it’s all true. Evidently.”

Noah frowns at Vanessa, following her burning gaze down to his hip without tilting his head to where a powder flask hangs from his belt. Recognition dawns just as quickly as Vanessa decides that this is their only hope of survival. He turns pale under the same realisation but then he turns back to Vanessa slowly without drawing attention to the silent conversation, and nods.

“_Wait_.”

Vanessa only just suppresses a convulsive reaction, her body threatening to jump against her better judgement when she feels Graham’s gravelly voice vibrate too closely against her ear.

But her eyes go wide despite herself and her whole body tenses painfully.

“Didn’t ask for your life story, Kim.” Charity snaps, tapping the blade of her sword against Kim’s and the sound reverberates off the cave walls with an intimidating ring. It snaps Vanessa from her moment of panic and back to reality.

The tension in the air continues to build, stiflingly hot in the enclosed space and Vanessa begins to count the seconds that go by with her eyes glued to Noah’s hand clasped around the powder flask.

“Don’t be so impatient, I’m going to have you all killed sooner or later.” Kim quips.

Graham’s grip loosens.

“He came home one night in a mad rage. I was too young at the time to know what he was so upset about.” She says, “but now I do. _This_,” she points down at the goblet within the chest, Charity stops her pacing, “this is the key to Billy Bones’ success.”

Graham lowers his sword.

“Come on.” Charity groans, “we know this.”

“All I need to do is drink straight from this right here, and then I’ll have full command of the curse.”

Just then, Graham drops his hand and Vanessa’s shoulder falls from his hold.

“I’ve got a bottle of spiced wine on the ship, you could let us go and get it for you, I’m sure the dust from that won’t ruin the flavour.” Charity shrugs, but her stance remains ready for an attack because she knows, and so does Vanessa, that Kim’s going to take the bait.

“You know what Charity?” Kim stretches her sword towards the chest and hooks the blade through one of the small handles on the cups side. It slides down with an oddly satisfying chime. “I’m really going to enjoy killing you, but not before you’ve watched every, single, one, of your crew die first, then your son, and then the rest of your family.”

“How’s that going to work out for you?” It’s only because she’s dead set on keeping her eyes glued to Noah that she hears the almost imperceptible waver to Charity’s voice.

“You see, I need to kill someone - a sacrifice, you might say,” Kim makes a slicing gesture across her throat and mimes filling the goblet, “and who better to sacrifice then _her_.” She whirls on Vanessa, eye ablaze with a vile amount of evil that has the last of her breath chocking in her throat with an audible gasp.

Her blood goes cold within her veins, but the sensation sparks something violent, defensive, within herself.

“Like hell.”

Before Kim can even turn back to her, Charity hurls herself forwards in the same instance that both Vanessa and Noah jump to their feet all screaming at the tops of their lungs, alerting the congregation of the three crews on the ground to the attack.

All hell breaks loose in a whirlwind of gunfire and clattering swords.

Kim smashes to the ground with Charity on top of her.

Noah slams his elbow straight into Joe’s jaw with a resounding crack.

Vanessa dives for the goblet that fumbles from Kim’s grasp.

The powder flask sparks to life in Noah’s hand.

But just as her fingers graze the cool metal stem, feeling that engulfing energy radiating from it in almost painful waves in its proximity, Graham takes a quick step forwards and flattens her hand beneath his boot. There’s no threat to his actions, however, his features still void of emotion, just as it had been on every other occasion she’d stared into his face, he gives a stern, warning, shake of his head.

Vanessa relaxes her fingers and watches as the cup rolls off the edge of the rock, hearing it clatter against something wooden below and then onto the metal blanketing of gold coins beneath them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Joe clambering to his feet, sluggish and unstable with a dripping nose. Noah’s staring panic stricken down at the sparks erupting from his hand like he doesn’t know what to do next, and for a terrifying moment that seems to last more than it probably does, Vanessa’s bombarded by the image of him not letting go before it eventually explodes. But those thoughts are swiftly brushed aside with a mixture of annoyance and relief when Joe yanks the fuse straight from the powder flask and tosses it aside.

Graham’s still pinning her to the ground, pressing harder with his foot like he wants to keep her from interfering, the pair of them standing on the side-lines watching events unfold in tumultuous chaos. “What’re you doing?” She grits, biting down around the pain that shoots up her wrist when Graham loses focus for a fraction of a second and lets his weight settle.

He draws his sword and points it down at Vanessa, arching his eyebrow challengingly, “just stay still.”

There’s something in his eyes, however, that’s almost assuring in that he isn’t about to skewer her brain. She does as she’s told despite her better judgement, despite the burning urge to throw herself into the fight, but her free hand crawls down to grip the hilt of her knife securely in a tight grip. “It’s you she wants, so don’t let that happen or we’re all dead.”

She could ask, she wants to ask, why he’s committing such an extreme illustration of mutiny, but Vanessa daren’t move her lips to even breathe – not because she’s afraid to draw attention to the act of mercy, but because there’s a peacefulness settling within her mind, despite their current predicament, that she’s worried will quickly be flooded by voices and echoes of pain and hurt if she even thinks about it for too long.

Vanessa isn’t one to let something like worry stop her from doing anything, though, and now that the silence eases that freezing sensation along her arms, it clears a pathway for a reality to hit her with a force so strong that she’s ashamed it’s taken until this moment for it to settle.

The world around her comes clearer, brighter, like she’s surfacing from months beneath water. It’s with the surety that Charity holds her gaze for the briefest of seconds and the reliance and the need for reassurance that they’re going to be okay which she feels in Noah’s own eyes, that does it. Lifts that fog and brings her back to the woman she was and not just a broken, crumbling shell of her old self.

And now, even with all of her attention focused on Kim, Charity’s eyes flicker over to Vanessa without bringing a fault to her stance and the warmth that floods her chest parts the last of the ice-cold feeling like waves rushing before the prow of a ship.

That openness, this new found freedom from the all-consuming darkness, leaves room for realisation to settle in. Vanessa’s been so caught up in trying to fix herself and trying to find a way to keep her family safe, that she’s lost sight of what’s been right in front of her the whole time.

She doesn’t need the treasure, because even without it, she’s won. Vanessa’s the one with so much love and life around her, that she doesn’t need a cursed trophy to achieve anything more than that – certain in that moment, without a shadow of a doubt, that there isn’t anything more than that.

She certainly doesn’t need to turn out like Kim, who’s closest ally seems to have even turned his back on her.

They can walk out of this alive. Let her take the goblet and be done with all of this mess.

But with that thought, Vanessa remembers the consequences that could follow. She can see the malice and loathing as clear as daylight in Kim’s cold eye, and with it, the knowledge that she would never stop until every last person in this cave is dead and she’s the last one standing.

They don’t need treasure to clear their debts.

They can make it out alive.

All of them.

But Kim can’t be a part of that.

Vanessa snatches her hand back from Graham’s hold beneath his foot just as Noah launches himself towards the burning torch on the ground.

Whether it’s for show, to keep up the façade for just a while longer, or because he doesn’t want to fight at all; Graham doesn’t show any signs of resistance, only backs away with his sword drawn, pointed straight at Vanessa’s chest. But neither of them makes the first move, whatever he’s got planned, Vanessa and her crew aren’t part of it.

Joe and Noah grapple noisily on the ground, grunting and huffing as they fight towards the torch while fumbling with the lead ball. Noah holds his own, crashing a few weighty thumps to the side of Joe’s head that sends his brother soaring backwards.

She’s not sure where Noah gets it from, that heavy, almost clumsy way of fighting, because it certainly isn’t from Charity. She’s all grace and elegance, as though she’s dancing amidst a crowded ballroom, not trying to kill someone.

Vanessa always finds herself falling into a daze when she watches Charity like this, the world falling still and silent as she holds her breath, gasps when they skate far too close to the edge of the ledge, but Charity knows what she’s doing, goading and provoking Kim into slipping into silly mistakes, forgetting to block her left side. It leaves her unprotected for long enough that Charity, younger, fitter, more experienced, can stab and slice until Kim grows sluggish and tired with her dress streaked crimson. But she doesn’t stop, doesn’t surrender.

Vanessa turns on Graham and swings her sword hard against his, “what’s going on?” She snaps, the roar of fighting echoing thunderously around the cave but she says it low enough that the others can’t hear.

Graham matches her step for step, but there’s no danger, it’s like back on the Merciless when Charity had been teaching her, they spar back and forth with no intent to cause any serious harm, but Vanessa’s not one to let up so easily. She catches his knuckles with the flat of her blade for appearance sakes and he snarls. “Didn’t Rhona tell you?”

“Tell me what?” They fall into step surprisingly easy, and after a few short minutes, she’s sure Kim isn’t paying them any attention, too intent on proving some kind of point to Charity but not fairing well in the process.

Something flickers across his face, an expression Vanessa’s all too familiar with when she catches a glimpse of her own reflection in her bedroom mirror after she manages to drag her eyes away from Charity’s sleeping frame. “I won’t let Kim hurt her.” He says quieter, and realisation dawns like a cool breeze. “If that means helping you, then so be it, but she can’t get her hands on that-”

Joe lets out a scream of warning to Kim that cuts Graham mid-sentence.

Just then, the powder flask is tossed haphazardly from Noah’s grip into the air and everyone freezes, watching it bounce a couple of feet until it rolls to a stuttering stop at the wall of the cave, spinning precariously through the licking flames of the torch.

Vanessa acts without thinking, grabbing Noah by the scruff of his neck to haul him backwards through the air, his feet coming off the ground with a strength only afforded by adrenalin. She’s sure her muscles would be screaming at her in any other situation, but now, Vanessa feels like she could smash her way through the mountain face to find daylight.

“Get down!” Charity cries, dropping into a crouched hunch, only to throw herself towards Vanessa and Noah, shielding their bodies from the blast. Vanessa hooks one arm around Charity’s head to protect her skull, and the other drags Noah closer into her side in the same moment that light fills the cave and a blast that follows, so loud and disorientating, that she doesn’t realise the ledge they’re piled on is crumbling away beneath them until her back hits the ground again from a nearly twenty-foot fall.

Jagged shards and blunt curves jut into every inch of her body painfully, but with the breath knocked straight form her lungs, Vanessa can only lay completely still, gasping and panting for oxygen but only manages to draw in grit and dust down her throat instead.

Charity’s still shielding her body, but as she blinks through the clouds of debris, she realises that the three of them are almost buried beneath rubble and rocks. Vanessa jostles Charity’s shoulder, groaning as pain shoots across her chest, suffocating and throbbing with an ebbing pain. “Charit-” she can’t force her voice to finish, not enough air in her lungs to manage. Despite the failed attempt at speaking, though, Charity’s eyes flutter open lazily and her gaze holds Vanessa’s for a long moment, like she’s trying to wrack her memory of the past five minutes.

“You okay?” Charity grunts, coughing and spluttering around her own discomfort. She reaches up to skate bloody fingers across Vanessa’s cheek, needing to check for herself before Vanessa can lie.

“I think so.” She grits out, feeling that shooting pain increase tenfold when the words vibrate through her body. “We’ve got to get out of here, the whole cave’s about to come down on top of us.”

The walls that had once supported the ledge have become crippled with spiderweb fissures from the ground up to the centre of the ceiling, cracks popping audibly as the fractures grow at an alarming pace, spreading further and further with more and more chunks of cave collapsing down to the ground like an avalanche. “Okay, yeah,” Charity nods, words stuttering on the tip of her tongue, but she angles her hands either side of Vanessa’s head and hoists herself up, bones popping and clicking across the length of her body until she’s straddling Vanessa’s hips, yanking her left leg from beneath a stone slab of black, almost glossy rock.

Vanessa chances a quick glance back over her shoulder, only to find Kim ducking low amongst the rubble in search of the cup. She looks hardly scathed from the fall, tussled edges here and there, but the only signs of clear injury are the ones inflicted by Charity’s blade.

Graham’s clawing his way out of from beneath a massive slab, pulling Joe with him, bloody and covered in soot and dust from the explosion, choking on the thick cloudy plumes that rise up into the air.

But they both seem mostly unharmed as well.

Charity’s eyes dart around the cave erratically, trying to regain her bearings through the commotion and the roaring sound of the mountain conceding in on them, until they land on Noah with a sudden stillness.

“_Noah_?” Charity lunges for him, stone crumbling from her back as she moves. “Noah? Kid!” She taps a gentle hand against his cheek, but Noah’s eyes remain still and closed. “Ness, he’s not waking up.”

The pain burning through her body is swiftly replaced by panic and that maternal need to take care of her children and Vanessa throws herself to her feet, ignoring the protests of her aching muscles and crouches over Noah’s statue still body. He’s pastel white, chest rippling harshly with shallow breaths and a light sheen of sweat is beginning to bead at his hair line. That, at least, is a small relief, he’s still breathing, still alive. “Clear this.” Vanessa’s voice comes flat, calculated as she scans over Noah, chunks of rock laying heavily across the lower half of his body. There’s an injury somewhere, she’s seen enough of this to know for certain, recognises the signs, but she hopes to god, that whatever they uncover isn’t going to be as bad as she suspects it’s about to be. Vanessa holds two fingers to the weak pulse on his neck and nods for Charity to start.

Charity does as she’s told, scrambling to remove the crushing weight from Noah’s legs, only slowing when Vanessa feels Noah’s heart rate fall and tells her to go steady. Charity all but freezes when she reveals the mess beneath the final clump of stone. “Va-” She chokes out a broken sob, “Ness, his leg.”

There’s blood, a lot of it, pooling from what’s left of his lower right leg. The bones in his foot are crushed, breaking through mangled skin and muscle, torn by the explosion and flattened by the rocks that Charity’s body couldn’t shield him from. “Right, right, okay,” Vanessa closes her eyes and draws in a steadying breath through her nose, “I need your belt.” She tries not to focus on Charity’s ragged breathing, or the way her hands struggle to undo her belt with an untameable tremor. “Talk to him, let him know you’re here,” she says quickly, her voice failing to hide its on wavering, he’s out cold, either from the pain itself or shock, she’s, not sure which, but if Noah wake up now, it’s not going to be easy for any of them. “this might hurt.”

Vanessa takes the belt from Charity’s hands and straightens it out. “Come on kid, wake up.” Charity starts, kneeling beside Noah’s head and stroking her fingers gently through his ruffled hair. Her own face grows pail, just as pail as Noah’s and the sight alone is enough to have to pit of Vanessa’s stomach churning uneasily.

With tentative fingers of her own, Vanessa gingerly lifts Noah’s leg by his thigh so she can feed one end of the belt beneath the limb, just below his knee, wrapping it once, twice and then a third time, before she straps the belt and cuts off the flow of blood. Noah groans, eyes fluttering open and closed before they come to settle on Charity’s, frowning up in muddled confusion. “_Mum_…” he whines, high pitched and broken.

“It’s gonna be alright, Ness is gonna make sure you’re okay, isn’t she?” Charity jumps to reassure quickly, voice hopeful in a way that makes Vanessa feel uneasy in her own capabilities.

“Course I am.” Vanessa replies without a second thought, but her voice wavers once again and Charity’s eyes land on hers with fearful tears beginning to pool amongst the green. “Where’s Paddy?” She whispers, but there’s no need because Noah’s managed to wriggling himself into a sitting position and one glance down at his leg has him screaming so loud and so jarringly, that Vanessa’s sure the sounds going to bring the cave crumbling down faster than it already is. “I can’t do this here; we need to get him out.”

“_Paddy_!” Charity barks desperately, refusing to pull her eyes away from Noah’s. “Fuck sake, Vanessa, this is bad, this is really, really bad.”

“Charity,” Vanessa keeps Noah’s leg levitated but pulls her attention away from it to lock eyes with Charity, “you need to breathe, because if he sees you panicking, we’re not going to be able to do anything, yeah?” Charity gives a stuttering nod, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks in heavy torrents that cut their way through the dirt coating her features. “Keep talking to him, please?”

Stone slabs, as big as Jimmy, plummet from above, crashing and crumbling down around them, and Vanessa has to shield both Charity and Noah with her own body. The air ignites around them with those same vibrations from the treasures within the cavern, but this time it emanates from where Kim had landed on the ground and not from the treasures beneath their feet, heavier and more forceful as the waves pass over them in a palpable battering of punches.

“What’s happe-” Paddy skids to a stop and tumbles to his knees at the sight of Noah on the ground, “oh god, oh, heck.” He dives into action with Vanessa then, he grabs Noah, beneath his arms, ignoring the shrieking coming from his lungs, and Vanessa lifts his good leg with one hand and wraps her other arm beneath his hip. “We need to get him back to the ship.”

But before they can make towards the steep incline leading up to the hole in the cave wall, Graham barrels over. “She’s got it.” He grunts, “Kim’s got the goblet.”

Vanessa catches sight of Kim over Charity’s shoulder, and an ice-cold feeling curdles low in her stomach. Robert and Joe frame her sides, faces ghostly and eyes white as snow, the colour drained from every inch of their bodies. They’re stood stock still beside her, but their hair and clothes ripple in waves, as though they’ve been suspended within the darkest depths of the sea. And while that sight horrifies Vanessa enough, it’s not what causes the freezing sensation through her veins.

“Mum, what’s- my leg.”

“It’s okay, kid, you’re okay.”

Both Paddy and Charity follow Vanessa’s line of sight when they realise that she’s frozen on the spot.

“Good god.”

Kim’s left hand is coiled tightly around the cup, locked in a grip so strong that Vanessa’s sure the gold will be crinkling beneath the force. But that’s not what’s rendered her dumb and motionless. It’s the fact that Kim’s somehow hovering feet above the ground, levitating in thin air, as ghostly white as Joe and Robert on the ground. Her mouths fallen agape like she’s screaming, but the sounds muted as though a vacuum has consumed the three of them.

“Help me with Noah,” she turns to Graham, feeling her muscles in her arms beginning to strain with the adrenalin wearing off fast. Graham, despite his unclear loyalties of the past couple of months, doesn’t hesitate to take Vanessa’s place.

The weight lifted from her arms gives Vanessa the chance to breathe a sigh of relief, and for a long moment, all she can do is stand stock still, watching as Noah, still screaming and writhing in pain, is carried up the bank and smuggled through the crack in the cave wall.

Something flickers across Charity’s face, something dark and thunderous, an expression that’s completely new to Vanessa’s eyes. “Get him to the ship.” Charity barks, her voice low and unrecognisable. She’s barely perceptible as a shadow of something murky filters across her features and before Vanessa can do anything to stop her, Charity’s barrelling off, screaming bloody murder. Cain appears out of nowhere, hot on her heals and the pair of them, with their swords drawn, tear off towards Kim.

“Charity!” Vanessa screams, her legs and mind fighting to travel in opposite directions, her instincts struggling to decide between pelting off after Charity before she can do something drastic in the heat of the moment or following Noah and the rest of her crew into the tunnel.

But before she can make the decision for herself, a gaping hole slices through the cave ceiling and the daylight breaking with the morning sun erupts blindingly. Enormous chunks of rock plummet down, cascading like rainfall and all Vanessa can do is stare as though it’s all happening in slow motion.

They’re only a couple of feet from Kim when Vanessa notices the black shadow growing vastly greater over their heads.

Her eyes watch as the rock falls.

Feet carry her of their own accord.

Vanessa flies off towards Charity and Cain, fast than she thinks she’s ever moved in her life. Rocks explode on the ground, sending gold and gems soaring through the air, splintered wood from furniture cuts at her skin, and she has to zig zag and duck her way across the ground until Charity and Cain are within arm’s reach.

She’s not sure how she does it, or where the strength and speed comes from, but she throws her hands out, grabs both of them by the scruffs of their shirts, and hauls them to a stop, just as the rock smashes into the ground so hard that the shockwave that’s forced from underneath send the three of them soaring backwards through the air.

When the wind finally returns to Vanessa’s lungs, she props herself up on her elbows and finds the space where Kim had been hovering in mid-air. empty.


	9. Peg Leg Tate

Charity tangles her hands beneath Vanessa’s arms and tugs. “Jesus Christ, Vanessa, _get up_.” Her voice comes to Vanessa’s subconscious desperate and pleading, tears clear behind her words even through Vanessa’s blind shock.

“They’re dead…” she says, staring bewildered at the massive lump of rock from the cave roof that’s laying haphazardly in the space that had been occupied by Kim’s levitating body.

“Is that it?” Cain grunts, hauling Vanessa to her feet and shoving her, sending her stumbling into Charity’s chest. “Just like that and it’s over? Fucking waste of my bastard time, that is.”

“_Cain_.” Charity snaps suddenly, pulling both he and Vanessa away from the still collapsing ceiling and towards the bank up to the tunnel.

“They’re dead.” Vanessa repeats, feeling oddly numb to the touch of Charity’s fingers between her own. “Wait,” Vanessa stutters at the edge of the tunnel, attempting to turn back for one last look, “the cup,” but Charity and Cain give her another tug and darkness engulfs the three of them.

“It’s gone, it’s okay, let’s go.” Charity reassures softly, tentatively guiding Vanessa through the gloomy tunnel.

It’s the first time in a long time that it hasn’t felt stifling, suffocating her from the inside out, and Vanessa welcomes the feeling of freedom from her own thoughts and that vibrating excitement that follows with knowing they’ve won. It envelops her whole as they wander blindly through nothing but blackness, until the panicked shouting of her crew at the opening of the cave draw her back to reality, echoing down the tunnel louder and more prominent than that of the rumbling from behind of the cavern collapsing in on itself.

It’s Aaron she hears first, his words muddled throughout screams of anger, and Vanessa feels her heart ache for him for a brief moment before she hears Noah.

Reality dawns like a punch to the gut, rendering the small instance of celebration and relief obsolete. 

“_Shit_.” Both Charity and Vanessa speak in unison, not hesitating to tear off through the last remaining couple of feet of track and within seconds, they’re throwing themselves off the cliff face, hurling their bodies through the waterfall and into the pool below. The freezing water draws the last of that foggy happiness from Vanessa’s bones and sets her into motion, crawling so fast towards the bank that water sprays up over head, sinking her with every stroke. “Is he okay?” She splutters out, wiping dripping hair from her face. Charity’s only a step behind, shoving Billy and Pete out of the way who’re huddled around Paddy and Graham.

Paddy seems hesitant to make eye contact with either of them, but Vanessa catches sight of Rhona hovering nearby and grimaces at the slight shake of her head in response.

She has to steal herself, taking a step away from Charity and draws in a slow, shaking breath before she trusts herself to speak. Vanessa ducks low, crouching down beside Noah, shrieking at the top of his lungs, oblivious to his surroundings with tear filled and glazed eyes. “Rum,” she snaps, holding her hand out blindly until someone drops a half-filled bottle into her waiting palm. Vanessa doesn’t hesitate to hold it to Noah’s lips as Paddy pinches his nose, watching him gulp down the murky amber liquid. “Can we get him to the ship like this?” She whispers close to Paddy’s ear, Charity unaware of the conversation unfolding before her.

“No, if we want to avoid risking an infection.” Paddy grimly replies, refusing to meet Vanessa’s eyes.

Vanessa gulps dryly and hopes her face doesn’t look as pail as it feels. She gives a hesitant nod and stands. “We’ll have to do it here.”

“Do what here?” Charity snaps, rounding on Vanessa with a face stone cold, “don’t you dare.” She says without needing Vanessa to explain, her own guilt-ridden features betraying her.

“Charity-”

“No, Vanessa, you are not hacking of my son’s leg in the middle of the fucking jungle.” Charity all but screams, her eyes growing wide, bulging from their sockets.

“Charity, liste-”

“Vanessa.”

“You need to _listen_ to me.” Vanessa snaps suddenly, growing impatient under the pressure.

Charity startles and her eyes widen again as she fumbles to nod her head. “Okay.”

“We need to do this now, or he’ll die before we even reach the ship.” Vanessa says as calmly as she can, reaching up with blood and dirt stained hands to cup Charity’s cheeks. She tries to pull away to draw her eyes down to Noah, but Vanessa holds her steady. “We need to do this now, okay?”

Vanessa doesn’t think Charity’s going to respond, her eyes flutter closed like she’s fighting with her own thoughts, but Vanessa feels a wary nod against the palms of her hands and sighs out a sigh of relief.

“You can’t watch this, yeah?” Vanessa whispers gently, “I’ll make sure he’s safe, I won’t let anything happen.” When Charity nods again, her eyes opening, filling with pooling tears that glimmer across the bright green of her iris’s. She reaches up on her tip toes and presses a fleeting kiss to Charity’s lips. “We’ll wait ‘til you’re out of earshot.”

Charity nods again, and alone, she wanders deeper down the freshly cut track until Vanessa can’t see her.

“Cain.” Vanessa snaps, and not entirely thrilled with what she’s about to ask, but he comes trudging over, looking, as though for the first time since Tortuga, like he’s actually feeling something other than anger. “Follow her, make sure she doesn’t try to come back, please?”

“Aye,” he grunts and hands her his machete, “captain.”

“Someone get me a fire started.” She jumps into action then, “get fresh water, and anything we can use as bandages.” Everyone follows her orders without a question in the air and while she waits for everything to be sorted, Vanessa allows herself a second or so to calm her racing mind, eyes glued to the knife in her hand. The serrated edge at the base of the blade has a sickening feeling pooling low in her stomach. “I’ve got this.” She whispers to herself, breathing in low and slow.

“Nessa…” Vanessa flinches, when Rhona’s hand settle on her shoulder. “We’re ready.”

Gulping, Vanessa follows Rhona back over to Noah, quiet and still on the ground. “Pete, Billy?” She says as she kneels down on the ground, “can you two run back to the ship and fetch a stretcher?” They’re off at a sprint before she even finishes the sentence.

“It’s gonna take us hours to carry him back.” Paddy moans worriedly but Vanessa does her best to ignore him, she needs to keep a level head now, and Paddy panicking like this isn’t going to make the situation any easier.

“I’m gonna need you to hold him down, Liam, I could do with your help, too.” Before she’s even realised she’s blinked, Vanessa’s staring down at Noah’s mangled leg once again, his trouser leg cut away and the belt rearranged higher up. The machete is clean, the blade held above the fire until its glowing white and Vanessa can feel the hilt hot under her own fingers. “Okay,” she breathes again, feeling the air shudder from her lungs. But she’s not worried, doesn’t care, that she’s showing her fear in that moment, because as her eyes glance up, hoping to find any sort of reassurance on her crew’s faces, she finds her own feelings mirrored plainly across their features. “Bite down on this, love.” Vanessa gently strokes the top of Noah’s head and slips a bundle of cloth between his teeth.

His eyes well up again, floods of terrified tears spilling from the corners and streaming down into his hairline. A whimper that sounds as though he’s trying to speak, but is muffled through his clenched jaw, tugs something painful at Vanessa’s heart and she has to clench her eyes shut tightly to stop herself from breaking under his gaze.

“It’s going to be okay.” She says, keeping her voice as level as she can. “I promise you.”

It takes a second of hard staring and another to look away and let out a long cry of pain, but Noah finally returns his eyes to Vanessa’s and gives her a trusting nod.

It’s that unwavering trust, however, that has Vanessa’s hand freezing with the machete inches above Noah’s leg. His injuries are life changing enough as it is, but at least there’s something tangible still here, something close enough to resemble normality. And now, Vanessa has to take the last of that away.

If this little adventure of theirs has taught Vanessa anything, it’s that Noah, despite how hard he tries to act like a man, he’s still that boy back on the beach who’d been enthralled by ghost stories and treasure hunts. Noah’s a brilliant captain, clever, determined and he’s grown up blindingly fast within just the two years she’s known him, but behind it all, he’s a child, so young with his moments of immaturity, her _son_, and now Vanessa’s about to take that all away from him.

“I can’t.”

“What?” Paddy startles at her sudden outburst.

Shaking her head, Vanessa thrusts the machete towards him. “No, I can’t do it.” Paddy recoils from the knife like is a venomous snake.

“Nessa?” Rhona whispers softly from her side and encases Vanessa’s fingers within her own. “Do you want me to?”

-

The deck of the Queen Anne is mostly still and silent except for the quiet creaking of the masts, the gentle sway of ropes and the unwavering click of Charity’s boots as she paces the deck outside of their quarters. There’s a warm orange glow creeping out from under the gap where the door doesn’t quite meet the crooked and warped planks of the deck, illuminating the darkening sky.

The sun sets slowly behind the seahorse island as they sail away from its shores, the trees losing their outlines and beginning to fade into a blur of greens and oranges.

Despite the warm air, though, Vanessa and Frank are huddled beneath a scratchy woolly blanket under the main mast, perched on top of hollow, wine stained barrels, with eyes following Charity’s every movement.

She’s been at this for a while now.

The pacing.

Each step growing heavier and heavier.

And if Vanessa’s entirely honest, she doesn’t blame her. Her own feet have been alternating between tapping incessantly against the barrel and swaying back and forth, waiting impatiently for that door to open with even the smallest bit of news.

But hours have past now, and the longer they stand outside waiting for something to happen, the more irritable both Charity and Vanessa grow. There’s no talking Charity out of whatever internal debate she’s having with herself, so lost in worrying thoughts that Vanessa’s sure that Charity’s hardly even aware of her and Frank sitting here.

It’s probably why Frank leans into Vanessa’s side and pulls her close, wrapping an arm across the back of her shoulders. “If he’s anything like her, he’s going to be fine, teeny.”

God, she’s missed that. How easily Frank brings comfort to her, her muscles loosening around the tension. It was always a rare occurrence with him, even when she was a child, but when he did allow himself to slip into the role of being a dad, he never failed to calm Vanessa in ways that no one else could.

“Yeah.” Vanessa buries her face into her hands and gives him a half-hearted nod. Deep down, behind the panic, she knows he’s right and maybe there’s a part of her that’s choosing to listen to him more than she would anyone else. But Vanessa feels exactly how Charity looks, and nothing’s going to calm the racing of her mind until she sets her eyes on Noah and sees for herself that he is actually okay.

Frank reads her easily, it would probably surprise her slightly under different circumstances, but he gives her shoulders a tight squeeze and all doubt slips from her mind. “Do you need me to talk about something else?”

“Yeah.” She says, softer this time, looking up to watch Charity again. If it’s possible, she thinks the sight breaks her heart even more, when Charity comes to an exhausted stop against the rigging, tangling her arms through the ropes to slump forward like her legs can’t hold her own weight anymore. She lets out a long, heavy sigh that Vanessa catches easily through the quiet air and above the choppy waves down at the bow.

Frank settles back against the mast and drops his hat down over his eyes in the same way that both Charity and Cain do, a startlingly pirate like mannerism that doesn’t quite suit his usual uptight and pristine façade that Vanessa’s used to. It’s a strange sight, reminding, even through her simmering concern and worry, of how much he’s changed in the past two years. It’s a small realisation that sits far off on the edge of her mind, but still brings her a slight warming comfort. “Can I ask you something?” Vanessa can only muster up a grunt in the affirmative, refusing to pull her eyes away from Charity. “About what happens if I get to leave London…”

“If?” Vanessa turns her head, but her eyes remain locked on Charity’s darkening silhouette beneath the fading sunlight.

Frank stills, she can feel the air shifting. “Well that was the terms of my conditions, wasn’t it? To stop Kim from getting the cup and fetch it back to London with me.” He gives her this sort of dismissive shrug, but his hand reaches out tentatively and comes rest on top of hers. “But she got the cup, and I’ve not got a single scrap to take back with me.”

“But she’s dead.” Vanessa says, “we won, we stopped her.”

“Teeny,” Frank sighs out gently, “there’s no proof that we’ve done any of that.”

That bristles something hot and angry down low in her gut, and Vanessa’s first instinct is to round on Frank and throttle him, because Charity’s been pacing the deck like she’s about to explode with pent up anxiety while their son’s below deck being hacked at by Rhona and Paddy. But she knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, that he’s chosen a poor choice of words under the circumstances. So, she closes her eyes and breathes in carefully before replying. “We’ve got the gold, is that not enough proof?”

But Frank only shakes his head sadly. “Two chests…” He says like it’s no victory at all, reminding Vanessa how pointless this whole thing really has been in the end. “And darling, there’s no proof that we even got that from here, if anything, it incriminates you all more than you already are.”

An amputated leg, two of her crew dead, another seriously injured, and a pathetic sum of gold stored away below deck, is all they have to show for months away from home. “What do we do then? What do I tell everyone when we get home?”

“I don’t know. I’ll take the Revenge back with me to London, maybe that’ll count for something.” Frank replies honestly, frowning sadly down at their hands. “But I wanted to ask you, if maybe I could come stay with you and Trac-”

The door to the stairs swings open and an ashen faced Paddy stands shuffling behind the threshold. Charity almost tumbles over tangled feet in her haste to cross the deck and Vanessa all but throws herself off the barrel she’s perched on to reach him. They both round on Paddy in a whirlwind of limbs, sputtering out their questions in a rapid pace. 

“How is he?”

“Is he alright, I swear to god, Paddy, if you’ve killed my son.”

“How bad is it?”

Paddy, for his part, keeps up a brave face under the onslaught of questions, making Vanessa relax somewhat through her own panic. “He’s doing well.” Paddy says, wiping down his wet hands on a clean rag. “You can go see for yourselves.” Paddy clears his throat and makes a vague gesture with his hand to dismiss himself.

Vanessa half expects Charity to bolt off down the stairs without her, but when she feels a hand slip into her own, she finds herself turning to Charity only to find a sheet white expression in return. Apprehension’s lacing every inch of her features and the sight has Vanessa’s heart shattering inside of her chest all over again. “He’s okay, love.” Vanessa drops her voice slightly and leans into Charity’s side, feeling her body shaking with unrestrainable nerves. 

Charity nods, but her face remains pale and lined with worry, “I don’t know if I can see him like this, Ness.”

Vanessa can’t even begin to imagine how Charity is feeling in this moment, and she’s not entirely sure if she can even help the situation, but she tightens her grip on Charity’s hand and brings her knuckles up to her lips. “Do you want me to go down first?” She offers up gently, “or we can wait a bit…”

For a moment, it looks as though Charity’s going to jump at the chance to buy herself a few more minutes, if only to regain herself control, but to Vanessa’s surprise, and maybe even a bit of relief, she shakes her head again and tugs on Vanessa’s hand. She leads Vanessa down the stairs, taking slow, cautious steps that echo through the quiet room.

-

Vanessa doesn’t know at which point she lost track of time, only that the aching in her back has gone numb and the weight across her stomach feels heavier than it had when they’d laid themselves down in bed. There’s a thin sliver of blue light forming on the horizon, her eyes have been glued to that point since Paddy and Cain carried Noah down below deck to be closer in case his condition changes during the journey home.

It’s deathly silent in their room. Even their breathing doesn’t have the same sense of life to it, coming out in sluggish puffs of air that has their chests rising and falling gently. The stillness around them has a tense coil of anxiety winding tightly low in Vanessa’s gut as questions and doubts race around her mind, bouncing painfully off the walls of her skull, bringing on a pounding headache behind her eyes.

There’s no way either of them would have been able to fall asleep, even if they are exhausted beyond doubt, and the only reason Vanessa knows Charity’s still awake, is because every now and then, she’ll let out a quiet sniff, as though she’s trying to keep herself from crying. Vanessa’s automatic response is to tighten her grip around Charity’s waist, drawing her in closer.

But each time, to Vanessa’s growing concern, Charity doesn’t return the sentiment. Stiffening as though the contact alone turns her skin to ice.

It’s a reflex reaction, a need to want to protect Charity in any way she can. So, when Charity tries and fails to stifle another sniff, Vanessa pulls her closer, feels Charity tense, but instead of staying quiet, allowing the tension in the room to remain, Vanessa tips on her hip to face Charity. “Are you mad I couldn’t do it?” She whispers, her voice coming out more of a exhale of air than noise.

Charity’s face twists into a firm grimace. “No.” She says, the words gritting through her teeth. Vanessa senses there’s something else that Charity wants to add to that, so she keeps her lips pressed into a line and ignores the way her stomach begins to do flips in nervous anticipation. “It’s better this way.”

“Why’d you say that?” Vanessa utters softly.

Closing her eyes, Charity finally allows herself to sink into Vanessa’s hold. “He’s ours, in’t he? Just like Moses and Johnny are ours, too,” She starts, twisting her fingers into the front of Vanessa’s shirt as she winds their bare legs beneath the thin sheet, “an’ I know I couldn’t do anything like that to our kids, even if it were to save their lives. I couldn’t live with myself, an’ I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t do it, ‘cause I don’t think you could either.”

It’s not at all what Vanessa’s was expecting, maybe less talking, a bit more silence and glaring, but definitely not that much honesty. And to her surprise, Charity continues to speak as though a damn has been released and she can’t quite bring herself to stop.

“I feel like I’ve been punched right in the chest – seeing him like that,” Vanessa feels Charity shake her head against the crook of her neck, “so small and frail.”

Holding her breath to keep herself from releasing the sob she feels clawing its way up her throat, all Vanessa can manage is a gentle stoke up Charity’s spine, a vein attempt at reliving some of the pain she can feel radiating from Charity’s body.

“Sometimes I forget he’s so young, y’know?” Charity mutters, “he’s still a kid; an’ I’ve spent so much time away from him, too busy with my own life, blinded by whatever adventure came after the next, that I think I stopped seeing him as that little boy. Each time I came home, he was that little bit older, that little bit more mature, and every time he hated me less for going away and more for coming home. Until he grew up so much that he’s somehow forgiven me for all of that.”

“Charity…” Vanessa sighs softly into the top of her hair.

“He forgave me an’ I just let him follow in my footsteps an’ look where that’s got ‘im, eh.” With the last of the breath remaining in her lungs, Charity breaks and crumbles within Vanessa’s arms. Hot tears spill down her cheeks and soak through Vanessa’s shirt, as loud, wracking sobs fill their quarters.

There’s nothing Vanessa can do but hold Charity as tightly as she can and hope that this isn’t what brings Charity to her knees.

-

Sombre is the way Vanessa would describe the atmosphere on the top deck of the ship when Charity and her finally emerge when the sun is high up above the main sales. Instead of the usual bustling energy that blankets the crew, there’s now an air of grief and gloom, palpable through the fresh air.

Aaron’s slumped up at the crow’s nest, Billy hanging upside down from the rigging beside him, silent without his usual chatter. Paddy’s huddled amongst a stack of ropes on the far side of the deck with Rhona and Frank, the three of them looking just as exhausted as Vanessa feels. Everyone else is scattered across the ship, moving sluggishly as they work to keep the ship in full sail. Their eyes are filled with ghosts, ghosts that echo the ones in Vanessa’s eyes, but theirs are stronger, clearer, unlike Vanessa’s that have begun fading. Because she’s had time to deal with and come to terms with the demons within her own mind, but theirs are fresh, only just beginning to seep into their skin like fresh wounds.

And while Vanessa’s ghosts are faint scars, she still feels renewed guilt lacing those shiny white blemishes across her skin because the pain that’s shrouding the Queen Anne feels as though it’s been cast from her own hand.

It’s probably why she’s been hiding away below deck with Noah for all morning. Their ghosts can be ignored to an extent, but she’s the one who has to deal with the guilt that they’ve lost people, that they came all this way to leave empty handed, all because she _missed_ it.

But as immediate and unrelenting as her guilt is, Vanessa knows she cannot stay away long from the rest of her crew for long, cannot ignore her duties for too long.

Charity traipses slowly behind Vanessa as she leads them up the steps to the helm, they need air, need sun light on their skin, and up here is furthest away from the rest of the crew.

Cain, pail faced and slumped shoulders, nods his head in a silent greeting. She doesn’t think she’d be able to hold up much of a conversation even if she tried.

Noah’s out cold down in the hull. Muttering and whining with the pain that rages like gunfire through his body. Paddy had told them that he’d had a restless night, and with rum rations running low, managing Noah’s pain revolves around diluted alcohol and soaked rags.

Which means a lot of screaming, swearing, and anger directed at both Charity and Vanessa. And while she knows it’s just a symptom of the pain, the emotional exhaustion Vanessa feels, has her slumping down onto the deck with Charity not far behind her. They cave into one another and let out long, tired sighs.

Charity snakes her hand beneath Vanessa’s arm and knits their fingers together tightly. “Kid’s got a good set of lungs on him.” She says, laughing dryly.

“Wonder who he gets them from.” Vanessa finds herself smiling, albeit faintly, for the first time since returning to the ship when Charity lifts their joined hands to press her lips against Vanessa’s knuckles.

“Shut up.” Charity huffs out a tired laugh, slumping further into the railings behind them. “The sooner we get back to Tortuga, the better. I’m not sure how much more abuse I can take.”

Vanessa’s eyes train on the Revenge sailing a couple of yards away from the Queen Anne. It’s a nice sight, almost, the peacefulness of the two ships sailing alongside one another in unison. “He doesn’t mean it, love.” She says, giving Charity’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “it’s a lot to take in, and the pain’s just manifesting into frustration. He’s gonna take it out on us for a while, but that’s just because we’re closest to him, he knows we won’t leave him.”

She feels Charity give a weak nod, her forehead coming to rest on Vanessa’s shoulder. “I know, it’s just hard, init.”

“It’ll take some time, but it’ll get easier, for him and for us.” She remembers how it was after her mum died, the anger she felt bubbling through her veins nearly every second of the day for months after, how she directed a lot of that at Frank and Tracy. She’d lash out with everything she had, hurting both of them in the process, but they stood by her through it all. And that’s what Charity and she are going to do now, unwavering in their support and reassurances that Noah’s going to be okay when he makes it through the other side. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Charity makes a sound in the back of her throat and Vanessa doesn’t have to be facing her to know she’s rolling her eyes playfully. “He’s lucky I’ve got tough skin.” She says teasingly, but her words come slow and flat, exhaustion evident in her tone.

Vanessa untangles their fingers and gives Charity’s thigh a firm pat, “come on,” she climbs to her feet with a grunt and holds her hand back out for Charity to take, “let go to bed, looks like Cain’ll be fine without us for a couple hours?” Her voice rises in volume to carry over the helm, Cain giving a silent jerk of his head in confirmation. The fresh air helps alleviate some of that weight on their shoulders, but the exhaustions too much to keep them functioning for much longer.

Which is why, when they reach the foot of the steps up to the helm, Vanessa has to fight down the urge to cry when Frank and Rhona block their path. “Afternoon.” Frank grins wide.

“Someone got plenty of sleep.” Charity grumbles and makes to barge her way past until Vanessa tightens the hold on her hand.

“Everything okay, dad?” She tries to pull her lips into a smile, but even the muscles in her cheeks feel too heavy to lift.

“Everything’s great,” he says, shoving one hand into his pocket while the other comes up to rub at the growing, pepper beard on his chin. “Just getting ready to move over.”

“Brilliant. See you later, then.” Charity mutters, “I need to sleep.” And with that, she drops Vanessa’s hand and trudges off towards their door, shoving past Paddy and Marlon loading a rowing boat with a small amount of supplies for the Revenge.

“What’s happening with the crew?” Vanessa asks, standing between Rhona and Frank and turning to face the other ship. The remaining men of Kim’s crew are huddled in a small circle in the centre of the deck, chained together with Liam, Ellis and David guarding them, rifles pointing at their heads.

“After Tortuga, I’m taking them back to London with me.” Frank says, crouching down to rummage through his bag.

“And I’m going with them him.” Rhona pipes up.

Vanessa whirls round, with wide, stunned eyes, causing Rhona to stumble back a few inches in fright. “To England? What for? How long?”

Rhona can only gawp as she processes the barrage of questions, blinking rapidly while her brain catches up. “Yes, to England,” she drawls slowly, “to help your dad,” then her eyes drop down to her feet awkwardly in an obvious refusal to meet Vanessa’s hard gaze, “forever…”

“_Forever_?” Vanessa snaps, “what do you mean, ‘forever’?” She says in an incredulous voice, Frank shuffles away from the pair of them uncomfortably, moving over to give Marlon a hand. There’s a bout of betrayal brewing up in her chest, strong enough to simmer down that feeling of guilt and to trigger hot, angry tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “You’re leaving me, again?”

“Nessa…”

“No.” Snapping her eyes closed, she takes a warning step backwards with a hand held out to silence anything else Rhona has to say. “I can’t talk to you right now. I can’t listen to this right-” She’s tired, so stupidly tired, and all Vanessa can think about is curling up beside Charity in bed for a couple of minutes until Noah’s awake. She’s exhausted, physically and mentally and Rhona dropping this on her isn’t helping matters. “Later.” She retreats towards the slight ajar door, “we’ll talk later.”

She collapses down face first into the sheets, not even bothering to remove her boots. Charity mumbles something unintelligible into her pillow at being jostled awake, but her arm instinctively reaches out for Vanessa and yanks her into her side. “You woke me up.”

“Sorry.” She grumbles, body sinking into Charity’s warmth.

“What did the mutineer twins want?” Charity tightens her hold around Vanessa’s waist and chuckles breathily at her own words. “Not planning on taking over this’n too?”

The air hitches in Vanessa’s throat angrily and she has to allow herself a moment to regain her composure before shifting to bury her face into the Charity’s chest, tucking her head beneath her chin contentedly. “Dad was saying he’s taking Kim’s crew back to England with him, see if they’ll confirm the story.”

“Yeah?” Charity asks disinterestedly. “That’s good though, init? What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Vanessa feels herself wanting to laugh at Charity’s choice of words, feeling the corners of her mouth tightening into a stifled smile despite the heavy feeling weigh her chest down. “Rhona’s going with him.” She isn’t the least bit surprised when Charity doesn’t react, either too tired herself, or doesn’t see a reason for Vanessa to be upset over such a thing. “And she’s not coming back.”

“To the island?” Charity grunts, burying herself further into the sheets.

Vanessa chases the contact, doesn’t want to lose Charity’s body heat. “Or Tortuga, she’s staying in England.”

“Oh.” Vanessa feels understanding dawn on Charity in the way her body loses its tension, the way she softens into Vanessa’s side and her grip changes. It becomes more secure, as though she’s trying to keep Vanessa from falling apart. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” She can’t shrug her shoulders in this position, instead, her body does this sort of roll that has how burrowing further into Charity. “Didn’t give her the chance to explain. Little bit preoccupied with other stuff at the moment.”

Charity hums out her agreement in the back of her throat. “Me too.” Her voice lowers suddenly, growing heavier and slower, and for a second, Vanessa wonders if Charity drifting back off to sleep, that is until a hot hand snakes its way beneath the hem of her shirt and purposefully presses into Vanessa’s ribs. “Think we could do with something to help take our minds off everything, eh?”

“Thought you were wanting to sleep…” Vanessa chuckles dryly, her own hand reaching down to curl around the underside of Charity’s thigh, hiking it up across her waist.

“Changed me mind.” Charity hoists herself up onto her elbow and sleep clouded eyes gaze down at Vanessa with a teasing smile playing in the green of her irises. “Come ‘ere.” She juts out her chin and Vanessa jumps at the chance to lean up and catch her lips between her own.

“Y’know,” she manages, refusing to tear their mouths apart, smiling when she feels Charity’s teeth scrape along her bottom lip and begin to travel across her jaw, “I thought by coming out here, not having to worry about the boys walking in on us, that we’d get the chance to do this more.” She says and Charity laughs openly against her mouth. “But I think we’ve gone longer without sex in the past three months than we have since I met you.”

A rumbling growl works its way up from Charity’s lungs and vibrates against the column of Vanessa’s neck where sharp teeth have latched on to the pale, freckled skin. “Well,” Charity’s lips part into a wide grin before pursing around skin to suck hard, pulling a sharp gasp from Vanessa’s lungs and sending heat pooling low in her stomach, “I think we can make up for that now.”

-

There are no signs of the events that had unfolded in Tortuga port when the Queen Anne and the Revenge dock two weeks later, except for clumps of black, scorched sand that’s been mantled beneath the burning flames of the Merciless on the sandy beach. Other than that, debris and cargo from the ship have been wiped clean from the port, leaving an oddly empty feeling in Vanessa’s chest as they climb the steps up into the market.

She’s not sure how, but word of Kim’s death, or suspected death, has beaten them to the island, and the streets are packed with merchants, pirates and traders. The sight fills the emptiness with warm, and while it’s still hollow, at least there’s a sense of happiness that envelops her, regardless.

Her crew taper off into the crowds in search of supplies to get them through the final leg of their journey home, except for Paddy and Liam who offered to stay on the ship while Noah sleeps through an infection. It had taken some pushing, but eventually both Charity and Vanessa were convinced by the pair that he would be fine for a few hours without them, that he’d likely not even notice their absence in his current state. And together, Paddy and Vanessa had come up with a list of herbs and remedies that she can find in the market that’ll help Noah get through the trip until they can get him home and look after him properly.

Still, as they wander the narrow streets in search of willow tree bark and vinegar, Charity seems reluctant to venture too far from the harbour. “Come on.” Vanessa says, giving her hand a gentle tug, “let’s get you a drink.”

Charity’s not one to protest when it comes to her rum and wine, but for a brief moment, Vanessa thinks Charity’s going to shake her head and run straight back to the rowing boat at the docks, but after a hesitant second, she nods and allows Vanessa to lead them through the bustling crowds and towards the boarded up and abandoned building that they’d visited their last night here.

The taverns oddly cold inside, the heavy wooden doors keeping the heat outside from touching the dark wooden interior. Streaks of bright light break through the cloudy windows, however, leaving patches of warmth against the bar top where Vanessa settles into one of the stools as Charity locks the door behind them.

“Shame she had to leave this spot.” Charity grumbles, round the bar and pulling out two of the least dirty glasses she can find, filling them enthusiastically with rum.

“Kim would have had her killed out in the streets if she hadn’t.” Vanessa points out over the top of her glass.

Charity nods, slumping against the bar opposite Vanessa. “We did her a favour then, really.”

Scoffing, she puts her glass down in favour of reaching across the space between them to tangle her fingers with Charity’s. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Charity hums in agreement, smiling for the first time since leaving the seahorse island as though she really means to, teeth catching the light between her lips. Vanessa’s heart wells through the guilt and worry, drowning the feeling in blissful happiness. “Maybe you could let her work with you an’ Chas when we get home?”

“Maybe.” Charity’s smile falters somewhat, the light draining from her eyes.

She squeezes Charity’s fingers gently until she looks up to meet Vanessa’s eyes with her own. “What’s wrong?”

Charity shrugs dismissively but when Vanessa hardens her eyes, a frown dipping her brows, she lets out a long sigh and drops both elbows to the bar. “I don’t know, Ness. I just feel like we haven’t done anything.”

“Haven’t done anything?” Vanessa feels her frown deepen.

“Just like we ‘aven’t really achieved anythin’… we’ve had more loses than anything.” Vanessa’s shoulders deflate and she turns her eyes down to scratched bar top. “Everything’s just been going wrong since the Swallow.”

“Charity…”

“Nearly getting blown up, losing Matty,” Charity’s voice breaks but she clears her throat and gives a firm shake of her head, “Robert going behind our backs, Christ Noah nearly died, Ness, and you’ve been dealing with so much, and for what?” Charity blinks away the shine in her eyes and allows her face to crumble into a pained grimace, “we haven’t cleared our names, we’ve got a handful of gold, and who knows how many people know how to find us now.”

“It all sounds so worthless when you put it like that…” Vanessa whispers, afraid to raise her voice in case it cracks through the air and breaks the moment they’ve found themselves in. “An’ yeah, a lot of things didn’t go to plan, but if we keep focussing on the stuff that went wrong instead of the stuff that went right, then that’ll make it next to impossible to show our faces when we get home.”

“Jesus, Ness, what the fuck went _right_?” Charity snaps suddenly, slamming her hands down hard on the bar and making Vanessa recoil in shock. The fire in her eyes is gone before it turns into an all inferno, but she pivots on her feet to turn her back to Vanessa, shoulders rising and falling furiously.

Vanessa pulls in a calming breath to steady her heart rate and to give Charity the chance to temper down her own anger. “Kim’s dead.” She voices quietly, “that’s one less problem for us to face, we stopped her killing our whole family, Charity, we’re safe from her.” Charity doesn’t turn back to her however, and Vanessa slouches in her seat, emptying her glass before pouring herself another. “Noah got to prove us wrong,” she says, lighter this time, with a teasing tone lacing her words, “he found his treasure and he rubbed our faces in it.”

“Smug git will love that.” Charity grumbles, her body losing some of its tension.

“And, y’know, we still might have a chance at changing their minds, back in England, I mean. Dad’s going back with the gold and Kim’s crew, and maybe, with Rhona and Graham with him too, they’ll believe him.” Vanessa watches Charity’s head bob in a reluctant nod. She reaches across the top of the bar tentatively to hold the hem of her shirt, drawing her backwards until she bumps the counter. Vanessa climbs from her seat and onto the bar, clasping Charity tight between her thighs. “People died, Charity, I know tha’, but they all knew what they were getting themselves into when we started this,” she says, now the words come out more for how own comfort rather than for Charity’s, but it looks as though they have the same effect, “we all know the risks, Christ, we were lucky to make it past the Swallow, I know that better than anyone, and so does Jimmy.”

“I’m sorry.” Charity squeaks out, and Vanessa realises with a start that she’s crying. “I did this to you, I’m so sorry I took you away from that safety and threw you into this mess.”

“_What_?” Vanessa blurts out, refusing to let Charity keep her eyes away from her any longer. She grips her shoulders firmly and turns Charity back to face her between her thighs. “What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about any of this if it wasn’t for me.” She’s gasping for breath, silent sobs breaking her sentences into pieces, crumbling into Vanessa’s front like she’s incapable of holding her own bodyweight through the barrage of emotions that’s overwhelming her.

Vanessa’s hands fly to Charity’s cheeks and her thumbs swipe purposefully at the tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare apologise for _saving_ me from that life.” Charity lets out another broken sob, this one louder, and she tumbles forward to bury her face into Vanessa’s neck. “None of this is your fault, Charity. I chose to leave with you that day, and every day since I have loved you completely, I have been so thankful that you took me with you, and I refuse, absolutely refuse, to regret every day since.”

“But everything with Bails-”

“I knew what I was getting myself into.” Vanessa cuts in, pressing her thumbs beneath Charity’s chin to life her face. “And everything since then is something I can work through, this has helped, so much, I know what’s real,” she presses her lips, a barely there touch, to Charity’s lips, “I can feel that you’re real.” Her lips move to the hammering pulse point on Charity’s neck and she presses a firmer kiss to the skin.

“Ness, Love…” Charity sighs, her hands falling to Vanessa’s hips.

“I thought it would all go away if we came back out here, like facing my fears or somethin’ would stop it all,” Vanessa whispers, peppering kisses up the column of Charity’s neck and back to her lips, “I was stupid to think tha’, but it’s made me realise that I can deal with it, I can come to terms with things in my own time, and it’ll get easier.” She tugs Charity’s shirt from her trousers and splays her fingers across hot skin. “You gave me life, a reason to live, you gave me a family, and I feel alive because of _you_.”

Lunging forward with probably far more force than she means to, Charity crashes her lips hard and determined against Vanessa’s, sending the pair of them tumbling back on top of the bar. The air’s knocked straight from Vanessa’s lungs but she doesn’t give herself a chance to complain before she’s tangling her fingers deep into Charity’s hair, knocking her hat to floor and kicking the bottle and glasses off the bar along with her boots.

“I love you.” Charity’s tears drip down onto Vanessa’s flushed cheeks and trail down into her hairline. “I love you so much.” Vanessa feels her eyes roll back into her skull when Charity presses her thigh between her legs. “Vanessa.”

“I love you, too.” Charity’s shirt is torn from her body and discarded haphazardly to the floor, before she’s hoisting Vanessa up by her waist to pull it up over her head.

-

The door to the tavern creeks open just as Vanessa finishes buttoning up her trousers. “It’s closed.” She calls before she’s even looked up from the loose laces on her boots.

“Ness.” Charity mutters from behind the bar, clearing her throat.

She looks up then to find Frank and Rhona hovering smugly in the doorway. “You two finished?” Rhona asks, rising an eyebrow teasingly.

“What do you want?” Vanessa doesn’t need this now, this swelling annoyance and irritation poisoning her blissful post-sex come down.

Frank coughs awkwardly and steps around Rhona. “Just letting you know that we’re setting sail in a couple hours.”

“Wait, already?” Charity takes a long gulp of rum from a fresh bottle and round the bar to come to a stop beside Vanessa. She still hasn’t tucked her shirt in, and her boots are laying forgotten somewhere beneath one of the tables so that when she walks, her bare feet make a soft padding sound against the dirty, wood floor. “You not gonna wait a few days or even come back with us for a bit?”

Vanessa snaps her head around to shoot daggers in the side of Charity’s face, but she’s too busy picking at a chip in the glass to notice.

Frank must sense that Vanessa clearly isn’t happy with that suggestion and lets out an uneasy laugh. “We want to get back as soon as we can.” He gives Charity an apologetic shrug as Vanessa crouches down to tie her laces. “I want to try and fix this.”

Vanessa smiles inwardly, making sure to keep her head bowed and out of sight, then stands. “And you?” She directs her words to Rhona.

“Graham’s got a place in the governor’s office waiting for him.” She says with a smile on her lips and shadows in her eyes. Her face is a jigsaw of emotion, but the pieces are from different puzzles, mismatched and unreadable.

“So, what? You’re just gonna go follow him?” She doesn’t mean to snap, she wants to keep her emotions in check, keep her feelings hidden because she’s angry, so fucking angry that her best friend is abandoning her again.

Rhona sighs heavily through her nose and her lips purse into a hard line. “I love him, Nessa.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes, he loves me.” Rhona snaps offendedly. 

“Then why is it his life over yours?” Vanessa crosses her arms over her chest and steels her features. It’s been a long time, but she still knows Rhona well enough to know when she’s struck a chord. It’s a satisfying thought, to know she’s pushed on something that Rhona’s been trying to ignore, it’s enough for Vanessa to not want to argue anymore. The seeds there, it’s up to Rhona now, if she wants to pay it any attention. “Fine,” Vanessa throws her hands up in the air, “fine, but we’ve got to go find some stuff for Noah, so I s’pose this is a goodbye?”

Rhona freezes at the sudden change in tone, “yeah, this is goodbye.” She says nodding slowly, “goodbye…”

Throat hot and scratchy and her eyes stinging, Vanessa crosses the tavern within a flash, enveloping Rhona in a tight, bone crushing hug. She’s crying, and Rhona’s crying and frank and Charity stand staring at the sight like they have no idea what’s happening. “Goodbye,” Vanessa’s voice breaks the second the word forms on the tip of her tongue. “Bye.” She says again, feeling her tears flow down her cheek, hot and burning.

“I’m not abandoning you.” Rhona manages to croak out, clawing at Vanessa back to tighten her hold. “I’ll never do that again.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa feels that distant part of her heart breaking the second she draws herself away from Rhona and gives a weak, half-hearted nod. She wipes at her cheeks roughly and then runs her nose over the back of her arm. “We’ve got to get going.” Vanessa turns to Charity, silently pleading with her eyes for her to give them an out so she doesn’t have to say it again.

“Noah’ll be wakin’ up in a bit.” Charity says, shoving a cork back into the top of the bottle and slipping it into her jacket pocket. “Gotta get him this and something to help that infection he’s got going on.”

“’Couse.” Rhona wipes her own cheeks and forces another smile onto her lips.

“I’m gonna send someone with you.” Vanessa turns to Frank, “so you can get back to the island after you’ve finished sorting out those bounties on our heads, yeah?”

Frank beams, a wide brilliant smile. “You want me to be with you and Trace?”

Vanessa feels a fresh wave of tears filling her eyes as a wobbly smile works at her mouth. “Yeah, dad, I want you to come be with us.”

-

Vanessa can’t help but laugh, watching Charity attempt to lug the red painted crate down the steps into the hull. She groans with each step, glares at Vanessa each time she laughs, and huffs out a breath to move the stray hair from her face. “Could you give me a hand instead of gawpin’ at me.”

“Nope.” Vanessa tips her head back, crowing with laughter when the crate slips on the last step and lands on Charity’s foot. “You paid far too much for those.”

“They’re for the kids, right?” Charity winces, clutching her foot in her hands. “They’ll love them, Noah s’pecially.”

That softens Vanessa’s resolve and she reaches out for Charity’s foot, patting the top of the crate for her to sit down. “They will love them, I’ll give you tha’.” She pulls Charity’s boot from her foot and grimaces at the red, swelling lump on the top. “We’ll have a big party on the beach when we’re back, fire, rum, plenty of food…”

Charity stomach lets out a growl at the mention of food and the pair fall into quiet laughter. “I miss meat, fresh meat. None of this salty crap.”

Vanessa groans and lets her jaw drop. “God, me too. And fruit, _ripe_ fruit, not the mushy warm stuff we’ve been living on.”

“Listen to us,” Charity chuckles and wraps her arm around Vanessa when she sidles up beside her, “right sad pair.”

“I’m excited to see the boys.” Vanessa drops her head to Charity’s shoulder and lets her eyes flutter closed. The island falls into view, bright sunlight, the smell of grass and trees and flowers, fills every inch of her senses like a barrage of happiness and her heart gives an overwhelming thud inside her chest. She can see Johnny and Moses playing in the dirt, laughing and shouting together. She can see Noah diving off the cliffs with his friends and hears the sound of the waves breaking as he cuts through the surface. Tracy’s digging her feet into the hot sand, gushing about David, or Billy, or some other bloke she’s tried to wiggle into her life, and that smile makes Vanessa smile. And then there’s Charity’s eyes, so green and inviting, green like the palm trees beneath the spring sun, and green like the see in the cove after a storm. That’s home, Charity and their boys are home, they’re her happiness, her reason to live, her reason to fight through this darkness that tries and fails to take into that place where existence doesn’t seem that important. There’s no dark and gloom or cold when she thinks of home anymore, just warmth and light and so much happiness, overflowing in every capacity. “I want to go home.”

Charity turns her head an inch and presses her lips to Vanessa’s temple and holds them there as she speaks, spreading that warmth and happiness further into Vanessa’s bones. “Me too, Ness, me too.”

“_Vanessa_?” Paddy flies through a door on the other end of the room, sweaty and pale and panting. “I need your help, it’s Noah, Rhona isn’t here, and I need your help.”


	10. A Pirate's Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one! Hope you all enjoy.

Vanessa prefers this time of evening, just as the sun’s beginning to sink low on the horizon, still casting sprays of heat across the surface of the sea. Waves of warm salt-tipped water that ebb with a timeless indifference against the cool sand, ushering her into an unperturbed stupor. 

She prefers this time of evening because it’s the last flickers off light before darkness descends and brings with it another wave of life to the beach. The day’s work is finished, the fishing boats have docked, and the villagers fall into a relaxed state of being as they make their way down through the trees towards the beach to unwind.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the way the wind whistles out a melody through the palm leaves, branches creaking out a bass tone. Or the way the air turns cooler, as though they’re slipping into another climate, a completely different island, as the last rays of day light leave behind a sense of peaceful serenity before its broken by laughter and playful shouting.

Vanessa’s not scared of the dark anymore, doesn’t feel the need to look over her shoulder when the flames cast dancing shadows across the ground, doesn’t worry about looking out the corner of her eye when she’s lying ram road still in bed. She’s better at sleeping through the night, too. The nightmares still come, one after another, three or four times a night, sometimes, Bails, Kim, Noah and Charity. But Vanessa doesn’t wake from those dreams feeling as though her world is falling apart, or like death is creeping its way through her body.

She still feels that darkness hovering around the edges of subconscious, though, on her bad days, which come few and far between now. Her good days are warm and clear and when they’re not, she has Charity and the rest of her family by her side regardless of her temperament.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard, love.” Charity breaks Vanessa’s languid train of thought, dropping down into the sand behind her as Moses and Johnny plough past them and dive into a hole a couple of feet away that they’ve spent their day digging. “Come ‘ere.” She says, tugging on Vanessa’s hips gently to pull her between her thighs.

Vanessa’s cheeks lift into a wide smile as the boy’s laughter filters towards her ears and she feels her heart warm and well within her rib cage with unwavering warmth. “Fetched it down then?” Vanessa juts her chin out towards the red crate dumped in the sand by the empty fire pit. It’s been sat in the middle of their home since they got home, and with Vanessa too smug watching Charity attempting – and failing – to move it on her own, it hasn’t shifted since. “No accidents?”

Charity lets out a laugh into the back of Vanessa’s neck, pressing her lips to warm skin as she laces their fingers across Vanessa’s stomach. “Sammy an’ Marlon carried it. Caught them on me way down heading to the Woolie.” She rests her chin down on Vanessa’s shoulder, “good thing an’ all, didn’t fancy throwing my back out.”

“_Again_.” Vanessa lets out a breathy laugh and feels Charity’s chest press into her back with her own laughter, drawing a grin to her mouth. “You finally admitting to yourself that you’re not as young as you used to be?”

Charity pinches the skin on Vanessa’s hip, inches above the raised scar, and draws out a giggling yelp from her lungs. “I’m not _that_ old.”

“Older than me, an’ a hell of a lot older than we used to be.” Vanessa sinks into Charity’s arms and lets her eyes flutter closed, enjoying the peace and quiet for a few more moments. The ground beneath her is firm and unmoving, Charity’s arms are a constant, there to keep her from falling apart, and the sun is setting in front of them, speckling warmth across her cheeks, but she’s solid in the belief and assured in the knowledge that she’ll see it rise again tomorrow. “How is everyone?”

She thinks it’s a subconscious action, the way Charity tightens her hold, thighs squeezing and arms wrapping around her with just a little bit more strength, as she buries her face into the crook of Vanessa’s neck and breathes in deeply through her nose. It sends a shiver racing down Vanessa’s spine and sends her mind back to waking up that morning in a similar position. “Fine, Debbie’s trying to get Cain to lighten up on the rum before they come down, Moira’s still not talkin’ to him, is she? An’ I think Paddy and Chas are gonna have a wander down once the fire’s lit. Her feet have all swollen up…” Charity begins chuckling to herself, the sound vibrating straight from her stomach, “reminds me of this time I were in Charlestown an’ there was this circus, yeah-” Vanessa cranes her neck to the side to press a kiss to the corner of Charity’s mouth, silencing the rest of her story.

“What about Noah?” She asks tentatively, gripping Charity’s hands a bit tighter beneath her own. She almost expects Charity to pull away, come up with an excuse to walk away from this conversation, but she doesn’t, she tenses, but the stiffness lasts only seconds before she’s melting around Vanessa’s body once again.

“Left Jacob an’ Sarah with him, see if they could convince him to leave the house.” Charity sighs tiredly, tilting her head up to cast her eyes out across the darkening sea, turning purple beneath the red sky.

Vanessa hums thoughtfully at that, watching as she buries the tips of her toes into the sand and notices the way her heart sinks heavily at the sight. She feels each sun-warmed grain tickle at her skin, scratch between her toes, and she realises then, how easy it is to take such a simple sensation for granted, how _she’s_ taken so many things for granted. Her eyes clench shut tightly, and she silently wills the guilt to let up for now, just for tonight. “He might surprise us.”

Charity lets out a flat sounding scoff, “doubt it, love,” she says, pulling one of her hands away from Vanessa’s to sink the tips of her fingers into the dry layer of sand, drawing aimless patterns into the surface, “no one else has seen him since we got home, part from us an’ the boys. I don’t think he’ll show himself tonight, not in front of the whole village.”

Vanessa lets out a heavy sigh because she knows Charity’s probably right. “Did you tell him about that?” She asks, pointing at the red crate.

Charity shakes her head slowly, “was s’psed to be surprise. Guess he’ll just have to watch from the window.”

Moses and Johnny have their chins resting in the sand on the edge of their hole, and Vanessa notices for the first time that they’ve been listening to their conversation, the pair staring up at Charity and Vanessa with wide innocent eyes. “Surprise?” Johnny asks, the blue of his irises growing bright with excitement.

“Yeah,” Charity grins, Vanessa can feel her jaw stretch against her own cheek, “that big box is your present.”

“But this is our presents.” Moses cuts in, ducking down into the bottom of the hole to return holding Charity and Vanessa’s hats, plonking them on their heads like a right little pair of pirates with matching sticks for swords.

With a teasing shrug, Charity makes a tutting sound with her tongue, “oh well, you can just have them if you want and I can give this present to someone else, maybe Tracy would enjoy it more?”

Moses squeals with outrage, clambering up out of the hole with an offended glare burning at Charity and his ‘sword’ pointed at her chest. “No, mummy, you said that was ours!”

“Can it be Noah’s present too?” Johnny asks quietly, grunting as he struggles to get his shorter legs out of the ground. “I think he wants a present more.”

“Of course,” Vanessa says, feeling her heart warm and soften against her ribs.

“Good.” Johnny says, “we’re going to find Grandad Frank, aren’t we Mos?”

For a long, comical moment, Moses looks blankly at Johnny until a tiny elbow nudges him in the ribs and he nods, still looking completely oblivious. “Yeah… Grandad Frank wanted to talk to us about something important.”

“Oh yeah?” Charity quips, “good luck!” She manages to call out before they disappear into the trees, chuckling to herself, “they’re about as subtle as Paddy.”

“He’s not going to be happy.” Vanessa says, climbing to her feet and dusting off the sand from her dress.

“He’s going to have to leave that house sooner or later.” Charity grumbles, standing to follow Vanessa over to the log stack. “Speaking of Frank, though, he’s still gonna show his face in’he?”

“Charity, darling, love of my life, this whole thing is pretty much for him, do you really think he’s going to miss out on all that attention?” She throws a log into the pit, laughing with a shake of her head. “He’s coming with Trace, probably Rhona an’ Graham, an’ all.”

Charity snorts out a laugh, tossing a log to join Vanessa’s. “Right so we have to give him attention?” Vanessa nods, beaming across the ditch. “That, I can deal with, for y’know, clearing our names an’ tha’. But that’s all I can manage, Ness. I’m not gonna be giving Rhona and Misery Guts attention just for rocking up with your dad and her secret child.”

Vanessa shakes her head as she rounds the pit, trying to stifle down her own amusement. “That’s fine, you don’t have to give them any attention,” she circles her arms around Charity’s shoulders and leans up on her toes to press their lips together, “but can you at least be nice? I know you don’t like Graham an’ that… but please?”

Vanessa feels Charity’s mouth twist into a smirk against her own, “can’t make any promises, love.”

-

Tonight, had been intended as a sort of mix between a ‘welcome home’ to the two crews and a celebratory ‘congratulation we’re free’, kind of party. What Vanessa thinks Tracy didn’t account for when planning this whole charade, was the palpable air of grief that had followed the villagers down onto the beach.

The two deaths sit close to everyone’s hearts, one innocent and one guilty, but both loved so much and so fiercely, that the celebrations feel almost like a betrayal to their memories. Moira and Cain still aren’t talking, the pair sitting on opposite ends of the fire, as far away from one another as they can reasonably get without making it blatantly obvious that she blames him entirely for Matty’s death. And Aaron – Vanessa assumes he’s probably feeling more embarrassed about being deceived than anything else – sits far away from the crowd, preferring the quiet down by the shoreline with his bare feet dipping into the cold waves. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even lift his head when Liv goes to check up on him with a bottle of rum in her hand.

The guilt is still weighing heavily in the depths of Vanessa’s bones and despite how much Charity tries to brush it off, Vanessa knows she’s feeling it too. It’s why, hours after the sun has set and the fire is spraying flames high into the air, the pair of them sit with three empty bottles of rum in front of them and are heartily working their way through a fourth.

It’s watered down, not strong enough to have the desired effect but enough that Vanessa’s tongue is beginning to feel too big for her own mouth.

But it’s with the vigorous flow of alcohol that the sombre atmosphere begins to lift and with it the guilt and feelings of betrayal become that slight bit lighter, allowing the two crews and the villagers to fall into carefree, flowing conversation and laughter.

They’re sat with Tracy, the three of them chattering away with giggles slipping between each word. Rhona and Graham sit close by while Leo runs circles around them, and Frank just seems content with sitting quietly behind them, observing with his wine.

“Give it a bit, yeah?” Charity grumbles when Jimmy comes skulking past on his third lap. They’re all waiting on Noah now, eyes drifting between the red crate that’s been abandoned well enough away from the fire and back towards the treeline. “Ness,” Charity turns back to Vanessa once Jimmy rounds the fire to make his next lap, “please tell me he’s going to show up.”

Her voice, on the way to slurring, pulls at Vanessa’s heart sharp and painful and it’s all Vanessa can do to reach across the empty bottles and tug on Charity’s hand until she takes the hint and sidles up behind her, framing Vanessa’s hips with her thighs. “He’ll take things at his own pace,” Vanessa says gently, leaning her forearms on Charity’s knees, “when he’s ready.”

Charity lets out a heavy sigh into the crook of Vanessa’s neck and gives a single nod. The rum goes forgotten and Charity busies herself with knitting her fingers between Vanessa’s, fiddling with the ring on her left hand. “I thought it’d be easier for him now that we’re home.”

“It will be.” Vanessa keeps her voice level, hoping that Charity can hear the surety in her tone.

She’s quiet for a long time after that, turning uncharacteristically subdued, and Vanessa doesn’t think she’ll be making another sound for the rest of the night as her eyes scan the ever-growing crowd on the beach over Vanessa’s shoulder.

Enough time passes that an argument breaks out between Cain and Moira and for the situation to be resolved after some grappling, Jimmy ploughs his way through another two bottles of rum and Tracy begins to sob loudly as she crashes headfirst into her alcohol limit, showing no signs of stopping any time soon. It’s a mess of minutes jumbled together, and by the time Charity begins to whisper into her ear again, Vanessa feels as though she’s been handed a good case of whiplash.

“Tonight hasn’t turned out like a thought it would.” She drops Vanessa’s hands in favour of winding her arms securely around her waist.

She feels herself chuckling in response, leaning back against Charity’s chest with heavy eyes. The air’s warm enough that Vanessa still has the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows, more freckles scattering the pale skin of her arms from where the sun has been beating down on it all day. The smoke from the fire blankets the thick smell of pollen that’s been carried in with the first days of spring, and Vanessa finds herself thinking back to the days before they’d left for their trip.

It had been colder then, the air thicker with humidity and looming storms, and Vanessa had been ignorant to the events that would unfold over the months that would follow. She’s almost envious of that feeling, where all she had to worry about was that echoing voice in the back of her head, and not whether Noah was going to recover, or wonder if she’s going to be able to get over this guilt running through her veins.

“But I’m happy we’re back.” Charity whispers a little bit louder when it becomes clear that Vanessa’s become caught up in her own thoughts again.

“Yeah?” Vanessa gives her head a slight shake to rid it of the alcohol fuelled fogginess. “Even if we didn’t get to keep any of that gold?”

“We didn’t need gold and treasure, love,” Charity peppers kisses from Vanessa ear, down her neck, until she’s forced to stop at the collar of her shirt, ignoring the gagging sound that Tracy makes through her continues bouts of varying emotional sobs. “And I’m surprisingly unbothered by that.” Charity chuckles, the movement jostles Vanessa from her slumped position against her front, “just s’pose things have been put into perspective, eh?” Vanessa can practically feel Charity’s brain working within her skull, the way her hands slacken as she loses concentration of her surroundings and slips steadily within her own head. She doesn’t butt into her train of thought, instead, she waits for Charity’s mouth to catch up with her brain. “Like, I’m always going to be a pirate, that’s who I’ve always been, y’know?”

Vanessa nods gently, letting her eyes wander around the bonfire. She supposes that’s true for a lot of people here, too, Cain, Jimmy, Aaron and Billy, Christ, even Paddy and Marlon.

“But no amount of treasure, or anythin’ like that, could ever make me put our kids in danger like this again.” Vanessa feels her breath hitch in her chest at the sheer amount of sincerity that laces Charity’s tone, and her heart gives an unwavering thud at her own thoughts being spoken aloud through a voice that isn’t her own. It makes her grip Charity’s hands on top of her belly that little bit tighter. “It was fun while it lasted but I’m happiest when I’m here with you an’ the-” Charity lets out a sudden croak, “boys.”

Vanessa’s eyes have been glued to the treeline for a while, and she spots it at the exact same time that Charity does. Three silhouettes emerging through the dense blackness, dull orange light casting an almost ominous glow across the shadows.

“Ness…”

Vanessa’s hand flies up to cover Charity’s mouth, “shush, you might scare him off.” A sudden silence falls across the group, their eyes following Charity and Vanessa’s, and for a moment, Vanessa fears that no noise at all is far worse for Noah’s confidence.

He’s struggling on the sand, the wooden leg that Paddy and she have been working on for the past month or so, sinks through the ground, but Johnny and Moses each have a hand in their own and they stop every now and then until Noah regains his balance. His leg is covered by his trousers, but he walks with a noticeable limp that would stand out even if he weren’t trying to cross dry sand. “_Tracy_.” Charity hisses out of the corner of her mouth when Noah glances up from his good foot, cheeks reddening beneath curious eyes that have glued themselves to him, “do something embarrassing.”

“What?” Tracy sputters wine down her chin, “no, you do something embarrassing.”

Jimmy, probably too drunk to take much notice of Noah’s situation, or maybe he heard Charity’s hurried plea, launches himself into song, ignoring Nicola as she bats at his arm, embarrassed by the sight. But he ignores her easily, and seconds later the villagers burst into song and laughter with him and Vanessa watches as the blush seeps from Noah’s features.

Vanessa catches his eye over Rhona’s head.

It’s like a punch to her gut, the memories that come racing back to her. Of Noah, sweating and convulsing in the cot below deck on the Queen Anne, his infection growing worse, more destructive to his own body. She remembers how, once Paddy had removed more bone and reddened and inflamed skin, Noah had come around, fully conscious for the first time since leaving the caves. He’d managed to sit up for the first time and even managed to eat a small amount of bread. It was with that that Charity and Vanessa hoped they were through the worst of it. Noah had asked to see it, asked Vanessa to pull the stack of blankets away from the lower half of his body.

Throwing up and swiftly passing out at the sight, they were sure that this would be the last, but they were completely unaware of the mental and emotional bridges that were building just as quick as they could cross.

But now, as Noah comes to a stop at the edge of their little circle, Vanessa’s filled with so much pride, filling every inch of her body, that he’s taken such a huge step, literally and metaphorically. “Hey, love.” She says beaming up at Noah, surprised to find a grin returned freely.

“Finally, kid.” Charity tries for nonchalant, but it comes out all high pitched and squeaky and the sound draws an eyeroll from Noah. “Sit down, we’ve got food an’ rum.”

Noah turns pale at the mention of rum, and his lips turn up into a grimace. “I’m sorted,” he says holding up a flask that Vanessa had filled with water for him that afternoon, “but I could do with some food; left me to starve in that house, din’t you?”

Quiet laughter filters through their group but when Noah turns his eyes down to the free patch of sand as though he’s not quite sure how to actually get himself onto the ground, Vanessa clears her throat and climbs to her feet. She feigns stretching out her muscles as she makes her way over to him and holds out a hand for him to take. A couple of weeks ago he’d have chosen to use some colourful words of refusal but now, he takes it without a second thought and lets Vanessa support his weight until he meets the ground with a groan.

“We did it!” Johnny squeals out his enthusiastic delight, grabbing Vanessa’s thigh in a surprisingly strong grip to shake her leg. “We got him.”

“You did…” Vanessa mutters out her confusion, watching Johnny and then Moses with curious eyes, “how?”

The three of them share a look that Vanessa can’t quite decipher and Noah shrugs with a smirk. Vanessa’s almost scared to ask, so she doesn’t, backing away, but instead of sitting herself back down beside Charity, she makes her way over to the red crate.

She feels more than one set of eyes following her, and for the second time in less than five minutes, a hush falls over the crowd, this one filled with excited energy. “Right! Listen up!” She shouts unnecessarily, because everyone’s already staring at her intently. “Is anyone coherent enough to help me with- no, Jimmy, sit down,” she pinches the bridge of her nose and pulls in a sigh, “Paddy?” She cranes her neck to peer over the top of the fire and finds him sitting beside Chas on a log, his hand over her stomach, and a wide smile pulls at her cheeks. Marlon comes with him, the pair stable on their feet as they begin to crack open the crate behind her with their knives. “So, before we left four months ago, I don’t think any of us could have imagined how it would have turned out.” A lull falls with the cool breeze from the sea, and Vanessa stays quiet for a beat in a silent show of respect, “We lost people, _good_ people,” that earns her a mixed response, and she’s sure she hears Aaron let out a disgruntled scoff my the shoreline, “ran into a bit of bother,” Jimmy lets out a _whooping_ sound above the gentle laughter, “but none of us would have guessed it would have turned out the way it did.”

At that, Vanessa catches Frank’s eye, feeling her smile echoed in her chest as her heart wells with warmth when he wraps his arm around a passed-out Tracy.

“You definitely redeemed yourself.” Vanessa says, just loud enough for her little group to catch. “Anyway, my _lovely_ wife thought it would be a good idea to get a crate full of explosives as a gift to our boys,” she starts on her train of thought again teasingly, “but it only seems fit that we share them with everyone here tonight, seen as we all have a lot to celebrate.” Vanessa reaches for the bottle in Charity’s hand and raises it up, “to being free.”

An echoing chorus sounds across the beach just as the crate’s cracked open and a startlingly number of rockets tumble out onto the sand. “_Jesus_,” Charity gasps, eyes blowing wide, “if one of them sparked on the ship we’d all have been _dead_.”

“What are they?” Noah asks when Vanessa sits back down in the sand, leaving Paddy and Marlon to set up the first round.

“Some Chinese sort of thing…” Charity mutters, eyeing the rockets warily, “a bloke in the market said they were getting big over there.”

“What do they do?” Rhona adds, shuffling behind Graham as she pulls Leo down into her lap.

Charity snatches Johnny off his feet as he makes to race past them, and Vanessa does the same with Moses, the boys tucked securely against their chests when the first fuse is lit. “They explode.” Charity explains simply, sounding less and less excited and more terrified by her own moment of gift-buying madness.

“_Brilliant_!” Noah rubs his hands together in anticipation just as a rocket is propelled vertically up into the sky and erupts with a deafening explosion of red sparks.

Vanessa feels the sound reverberate inside her ribcage as though trapping the noise within her own body, her jaw drops in awe at the sight. Moses squeals with excitement in her lap and wriggle sout of her hold to clamber to his feet, tipping his head right back on his shoulders to stare up into the sky as another rocket is sent hurting towards the stars.

“Best present ever!” Johnny screams, joining Moses in front of Charity and Vanessa.

“Yeah?” Charity lets out a sort of breathy gasp with her own eyes glued upwards, and she blindly reaches out for Vanessa’s hand and finds it immediately.

Vanessa’s so awestruck that she doesn’t realise she’s falling backwards onto the sand and dragging Charity with her until her head hits the ground, and even then, she can’t bring her eyes to blink. She hears Noah sniggering beside her and has to fight the fogginess to ready a snappy retort, but Vanessa’s surprised when Noah lets out a grunt as he repositions himself and lays himself down beside her. His face lights up purple and orange just as Vanessa’s tilts her head to face him, he’s grinning wide and she’s sure she sees his eyes beginning to shine slightly with tears.

Noah takes Vanessa’s other hand in his own and squeezes tightly, their linked hands aiding as a support for Moses and Johnny’s heads when they decided to lie down between the three of them. Noah lowers his voice, keeping his eyes glued to Vanessa’s and lets out a hushed, “best present ever, mum.”


End file.
